First Memory
Then, red Subaru, car seat, upside- down. All the muscles in my brain flex to hold on: The Little Fish That Got Away. I tell the story at parties of the first time my mind became soft glue; orange beard, a man helped me through the broken window into my young, uncluttered soul, a red car crashing.
Meredith Stewart Kirkwood lives and writes in the Lents neighborhood of Portland, Oregon. Her poetry has been published in ONE ART: a journal of poetry, The Atlanta Review, The Eastern Iowa Review, Right Hand Pointing, and others. In addition to poetry, she also writes children’s books about lemurs. She holds an MFA from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Find her on the web at meredithkirkwood.net.
