Angela Allen


Harney County, First Day

I sail the sagebrush sea, green scent drifting,
and just as you tell me, scan the land
for elk and antelope, big-horned sheep,
jack rabbits, those suicidal pests, like Jessie said. Read More



The azaleas bloomed in February,
or was it March?
That sultry fading winter when
aromas rushed like blood
into fresh spring. Read More



The mothers came home,
lipstick smeared like jelly, lurching for coffee,
just freshening up.
The fathers, revived after a cocktail fling,
ties loose, hair tossed like high school boys.
Some walked me home. Read More