A poem by Breda Wall Ryan

  The Snow Woman She was a blow-in then, the snow a wordless paper sheet, her footprints the first blunt penstrokes with everything still to write: spring planting, barley sheaves, a bitter crop of stones and chaneys at the turn of the year. Windblown crows dropped in through holes punched in the sky, gossiped year after year. She wrote children, they built the scarecrow in … Continue reading A poem by Breda Wall Ryan