Roger Reeves

Sept/Oct 2020

Which Was to Come

By Roger Reeves

The shrews leaping in the underbrush, they must smell death Upon me as I smell death upon me, though I’ve washed the Lord’s Grime from beneath my nails and feet, […]

Sept/Oct 2020

Fragment 107

By Roger Reeves

“Do I long for my virginity?” Sappho asks from the fragments, From the sun-bright blades and horns of dawn clattering on the floor, From inside a tomb, her office now […]