by Katherine Bonnie Bailey

Sleeping on silk sheets in a factory-crafted bed, I dream of fragile cornstalks browned by the sun, rustling as they rub together, and of ants crawling up a deck railing. Long-legged deer push through tangled underbrush with nubs of horns, avoiding yapping men who spew words born of alcohol, while I inhale sweet air perfumed by hay, horse flesh and sour-smelling weeds. But it isn’t as I remember. And when I awake, the cacophony of voices and horns isn’t either. A silence I don’t recognize inhabits the spaces between passing cars. An overwhelming sliver of silence, hidden in plain sight.

Katherine Bonnie Bailey is a freelance writer currently residing in Tennessee. She writes articles, web content, and fiction. Her work has been published by Shotgun Honey, Killer Nashville Magazine, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, The Saturday Evening Post, and various other publications.