Photo by Meg Boscov
Editor’s Note: This ongoing Sunday feature pairs photographs from Meg Boscov with a thought (or two) from the managing editor about focusing on tiny things to find something significant. Paired with this photograph is a prose poem from the series AFTER, a series of photographs & prose poems that imagines the world without us, after the melting.
Click on the picture itself to view at full size.
They have no tolerance for iron; this new order attracts, brings them back to the deserted hollows. They pitch their dew tents. In the guise of butterflies, they sweep the unkempt, construct dented acorn cannikins for their sweetest tea. This mid-summer, the woodland shimmers with occasional wings, with the whisper of sips, the tinkle of bells. No circle of daisies adorns, no peering from holes at the border. Familiar and complete, the fairies have set their table.
Meg Boscov is a photographer who lives and works outside of Philadelphia where she continues to pursue her careers in animal-assisted education and dog training. She can be reached at her website or on instagram at megboscov.
Check out the write-up of the journal in The Writer.
Matter Press is now offering private flash fiction workshops and critiques of flash fiction collections here.
Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions are now OPEN. The reading period for standard submissions closes June 15, 2021. Topical Thursdays’ submissions are open year-round. Submit here.
05/24 • Mike Itaya
05/27 • Elizabeth Edelgass
05/31 • Kayla Pongrac
06/03 • TBD
06/07 • TBD
06/10 • TBD
06/14 • TBD
06/17 • TBD
06/21 • TBD
06/24 • TBD
06/28 • TBD
07/01 • TBD
07/05 • TBD