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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Unapologetic
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
unasleep
in the shade.