by Amy LeBlanc
She builds children’s bodies,
stacking coveralls and gum boots.
Hydrangeas burrow only to find
their wheels stuck in the mud.
When the car door slams,
she shatters in a flash of light
and separates the salt from her tears
with a fine tooth comb.
Hanging dry over the rain basin,
she drips clean on the line,
pieces of a letter tucked into her rolls
and a clothespin propped between her legs.
[Amy LeBlanc holds an honours BA in English Literature and creative writing at the University of Calgary where she is Editor-in-Chief of NōD Magazine. Her work has appeared in Prairie Fire, (Parenthetical), Untethered, and Canthius among others, and she received second place in the 2016 Blodwyn Memorial Prize for fiction. Amy also has work forthcoming in The Antigonish Review and Open Minds Quarterly. She hopes to pursue a career in fiction and poetry, and has recently completed her first novella.]