Sam Eliza Green
Bio
Writer, wanderer, wild at heart. Sagas, poems, novels. Stay a while. There’s a place for you here.
Stories (169)
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Peach Daisies
He used to give me peach daisies. I told him I hated flowers, but he'd pick one for me every Monday on our walk home from school, stow it in my palm and run ahead before I could give it back. It would end up on the ground, the petals smashed by bike tracks and roller blades of the next-door neighbors. When we stood on the porch of our brick farmhouse, he’d look at my empty hand in disappointment.
By Sam Eliza Green4 years ago in Fiction
Feed the Wolves
Tonight, my heartsore sister, we must remember to feed the wolves. Bitter and sick of starvation, they will hunt us like the earth ravaged its reckless. Un-name your rabbits. Thank them for comfort in the bleak and fortune of their swift feet. Each night endured requires sacrifice—this is yours. We, the restless, must learn to release ourselves from solace. Turbulence will haunt you long after day breaks. I will be here to soothe the pain.
By Sam Eliza Green4 years ago in Fiction
