Knell

By Wendy BooydeGraaff

If a girl falls

outside, stumbling

on her drunken

legs, her body

hazed by whom

ever happened

to be inside the

house with Greek

letters, the sidewalk

jolting the memories

back into her brain,

does any

one hear it, be

sides the soft knell

of the oak tree’s

branch on the

blue metal roof?

END

Author Bio: Wendy BooydeGraaff's fiction, poems, and essays have been included in Another Chicago Magazine, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, NOON, The /tƐmz/ Review, and elsewhere. Born and raised in Ontario, Canada, she now lives in Michigan, United States.

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