about the author

Lacie Meier is an ailurophile and advanced dilettante. She loves the smell of rain-wet wood and pine needles warmed by the sun. Though she currently resides on Florida’s Gulf Coast, she misses her days as a northern forest sprite and plans to return home soon. She is the recipient of the Estelle J. Zbar Poetry Award, a 2014 AWP Intro Awards nominee, and an Ashbury House nominee. Her work has appeared in Prick of the Spindle and The Pinch Literary Journal.

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Lacie Meier

When littler girls, we were still
boys, fawn brown, raw

hide.                Do you remember
the names we gave the birds

that died?

                       bodies still
soft,     ripe plums. a rest

in the apple blossom bed
under grandmother’s window.

Grey lace webs early
afternoon. We lie

in the shade.

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