A dozen snow geese cross
a black sky. Wind and wing.
Smell of rain and cornfields,
the tiny ears like
rows of concealed teeth.

Who knew war would begin
with so few words?
Someone
knew.

There is no sound until
the clacker bell rings and
wet drops burn.

Linda Cooper lives in Seattle, Wash., where she teaches middle school Language Arts. She completed her MFA at Eastern Washington University, and her poems have been published in Hayden’s Ferry Review, West Branch, Many Mountains Moving, Willow Springs, Third Coast, Tupelo Quarterly, Los Angeles Review, Hubbub, Elixir, Diner, Midwest Quarterly Review, Weber Studies, Redactions, The Far Field, Verse Daily, Railtown Almanac, and Rock and Sling. She also won the 2015 Orlando Prize for Poetry.

Jayne Marek‘s photos have appeared in publications such as Camas, Sliver of Stone, Gyroscope, Central American Literary Review, Peacock Journal, New Mexico Review, Blast Furnace, and Gravel, among others.