Bev Clark

The women gather at the marketplace. They carry bundles: stone-heavy, over-flowing. They’ve come to barter their woes, peddling packs of guilt, regrets, burdens.   The dim-eyed women babble: how they cultivated succulent shames, propagated torments, ripened heartaches, harvested sorrows: bagged them up like onions and potatoes, ready to bargain for a grain of solace.  Years […]