by Sarah Seidel

Between the small stones of the patio I find you curled, drawing your armor around you. A paleozoic conqueror from the sea, now cautious, waiting, amidst the erratic forest of metal chair legs and chubby baby legs. I will be the wind, blowing through the yard, rolling you into the garden bed to hide among the mulch. Can I save you before you are crushed by indelicate and imprecise hands, smooshed, brought to me in pieces with the words it broke?

Sarah Seidel studied creative writing and literature at the University of Notre Dame and Chapman University. She is returning to writing poetry and fiction after many years as a social worker, teacher, and finally a public health researcher. Her work can be found in Eastern Iowa Review, Deep Wild, and Frazzled Lit.