by Darren Higgins
Remember the smell of wood smoke and wet leaves and sweet
cut grass in the buzzing field.
The moon hanging
like a curl of smoke above the mountains.
How sleep finally comes. A snap of electricity
when you flick off the light.
It’s like a fly caught
between the blinds and the window. Lemon soap. Pomegranate shampoo.
Darren Higgins is a writer and artist living in Waterbury Center, Vermont. His poems and stories have appeared in The Iowa Review, Quick Fiction, RAZED, Cosmonauts Avenue, Treehouse, Tupelo Quarterly, Bloodroot, The Rupture, Split Rock Review, and elsewhere.