So cool and green, hidden from view,
I was the spotted fawn camouflaged, left
behind by a doe who searched for food.
The lily pads absorbed energy from the algae
in the stagnant pond. Royal purple and lavender
orchids bowed, toads chirruped. When at home,
parents’ arguing became a drone, a mosquito
flitting about the ear. I heard how our father
did not support us—heard how our mother
did not respect his authority. The garden snake
slithered around obstacles. The baby rabbits
in their burrow could not predict the rototiller—
making room for green onions and tomatoes.
–
Anna Gasaway (she/her) is an emerging disabled writer published in Frontier, Zone 3, ONE ART, and others. She serves as a peer reviewer for The Los Angeles Review. Her chapbook My Mother’s Husbands is due out from Finishing Line Press in 2026. She goes dancing with her husband in the goth nightclubs of San Diego.