by Cheryl Snell
Before the dappled pony finds the way back home; before snorting softly in apology to the little girl; before throwing her off (her banged head now full of stars); before chasing that damn rabbit vanishing into the glittering pines; before lofting the girl to her red schoolhouse (roasted potato in her muff); before hearing her call from the same place she will one day watch the woman enter the frozen night alone, still calling from under a field of extinguished stars.
Cheryl Snell’s books include several poetry collections and novels. Her most recent writing has appeared in Anti Heroin Chic, 100 Word Story, Blue Unicorn and other journals. This year her work has been nominated for inclusion in Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions, and BOTN anthologies. She lives in Maryland.
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