by Zoe Imani Sharpe
To hear the rapturous rock-star fantasy
“restless imminence” and still
shed leather skin like
some foxgloves float to the floor.
Greetings, dear readers!
I’m currently writing this editorial in Montréal at my family’s dinner table with the back door open and a slight breeze rustling papers next to me. It’s still a bit brisk with spring on its way out but I’ve been admiring the recently bloomed peonies in our garden.
by Zoe Imani Sharpe
To hear the rapturous rock-star fantasy
“restless imminence” and still
shed leather skin like
some foxgloves float to the floor.