Posted on August 1, 1999
by Bob McCranie
Leave a Comment
She wears Ophelia’s dress wrung out and hung to dry on the frame of her shoulders. Or what, perhaps, the creek saw as it gazed up at a surface broken, shattered by flesh, the watery trees and golden herbs floating around her like cloth…
Category: 02. August, 1999Tags: Patti White
Find our legacy site at www.RedRiverReview.net
Copyright © 2018 by Red River Review.
First Print Rights & Non-Exclusive Anthology Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors. No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.