After a while the 500-year-old village became a secret, carved into the wall of the forest where it met the Pacific, eleven long houses and their racks of drying fish, their dogs. No roads to this town, only boats and the memory of boaters. Blankets made from woodpecker … [Read More]
Megan Snyder-Camp
Folklore
Once when I was in the forest a letter came. That summer I held trees by the throat with one hand and sawed with the other. I was on a trail crew. At night I lay beside a boy who chewed the neck of his shirt until it scalloped open. We were cutting a path… [Read More]