Wendy Wisner
Breadcrumbs
My sister couldn’t sleep—
at our father’s house, away from our mother.
I tried to help. I was a child.
I told her the story of the children
lost in a forest without their parents—
the trail of breadcrumbs, the oven.
I was a child. I was tired.
But I couldn’t sleep with the closet light on.
Inside the closet, the forest,
the children looking for their parents.
The sky outside our bedroom window
lit with breadcrumbs.
My sister lay awake.
In the dark she could see everything.
Wendy Wisner is the author of two books of poems, and her essays and poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Passages North, Spoon River Review, Nashville Review, Minnesota Review, The Washington Post, Full Grown People, Brain, Child Magazine, and elsewhere. She lives in New York with her husband and two sons. Find her at www.wendywisner.com.
Return to January 2021 Edition
My sister couldn’t sleep—
at our father’s house, away from our mother.
I tried to help. I was a child.
I told her the story of the children
lost in a forest without their parents—
the trail of breadcrumbs, the oven.
I was a child. I was tired.
But I couldn’t sleep with the closet light on.
Inside the closet, the forest,
the children looking for their parents.
The sky outside our bedroom window
lit with breadcrumbs.
My sister lay awake.
In the dark she could see everything.
Wendy Wisner is the author of two books of poems, and her essays and poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Passages North, Spoon River Review, Nashville Review, Minnesota Review, The Washington Post, Full Grown People, Brain, Child Magazine, and elsewhere. She lives in New York with her husband and two sons. Find her at www.wendywisner.com.
Return to January 2021 Edition