May 2025
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by Michael Plante There is an old tin shed in the woodsits rustic characteristics give it poise and wonderdistinguishing notables’ hang upon the wallsyesteryears’ crafted tools.Our forefather’s pride displayed honorably. Thin saplings line the countrysidemoonlit walk through crunching snowskates tied from laceshang over my shoulder.Under a winter moon I skatealone in the wilderness. Across the…
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by Michael Plante I can’t pretend everything is well.I won’t tell you my problems.Instead I’ll run with scissorsthrough a field of tall grassthat hide the stones that trip people.Maybe I’ll impale myselflike mother always said I would.
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Michael Plante When you see a child sitting outside their house a tear in their eye and smudge dirt on their cheeks;a woman screams from within and the sound of breaking furniture; you understand that it’s not any of your business. So you move on.Your steps become quiet and you search for something to occupy…
