by Darren Higgins

Remember the smell of wood smoke and wet leaves and sweet

cut grass in the buzzing field.

The moon hanging

like a curl of smoke above the mountains.

How finally sleep comes. A snap of electricity

when you flick off the light.

It’s like a fly caught

between the blinds and the window. Lemon soap. Pomegranate shampoo.

Darren Higgins is a writer and artist living in Waterbury Center, Vermont. His poems and stories have appeared in The Iowa Review, Quick Fiction, RAZED, Cosmonauts Avenue, Treehouse, Tupelo Quarterly, Bloodroot, The Rupture, Split Rock Review, and elsewhere.