by Bryce E. Knudsen
Grandpa's wrinkled hand grips the cracking wooden handle— pitch fork tines pierce the mouse's ribs with quiet accuracy— Grandpa turns soil in the garden.
Poetry | Fiction | Nonfiction | Art
Grandpa's wrinkled hand grips the cracking wooden handle— pitch fork tines pierce the mouse's ribs with quiet accuracy— Grandpa turns soil in the garden.