MY HEART IN PIECES
by Priscilla Atkins
Crippled, her late eighties,
Mom lamented, “No one
around here whistles”––
she used to whistle a long two-
tone from the porch, calling
her children home;
one evening an escaped parakeet
from blocks away quietly rode
in, winged green on her apron bow.
This morning, Gene, in his
reds, tremolos, making
the rounds of weeds and roses.
_____________________________________________________
Priscilla Atkins has worked as a librarian and an instructor of
women’s and gender studies. Her collection of lyric poems, The
Café of Our Departure, was published by Sibling Rivalry Press
in 2015.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2015 Next Page ►
Crippled, her late eighties,
Mom lamented, “No one
around here whistles”––
she used to whistle a long two-
tone from the porch, calling
her children home;
one evening an escaped parakeet
from blocks away quietly rode
in, winged green on her apron bow.
This morning, Gene, in his
reds, tremolos, making
the rounds of weeds and roses.
_____________________________________________________
Priscilla Atkins has worked as a librarian and an instructor of
women’s and gender studies. Her collection of lyric poems, The
Café of Our Departure, was published by Sibling Rivalry Press
in 2015.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2015 Next Page ►
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 10, Number 2
(Fall 2015)
Copyright © 2015
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 10, Number 2
(Fall 2015)
Copyright © 2015
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
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