One Sentence Poems

John Riley Remains When his mother died she turned her face toward the wall, left for a red-dirt grave behind a church she’d never been inside. John Riley may spend too many days tending to his daughter’s dog.    

John Riley ICU The sunlight, she said, look, is varnishing the white tiles an Aztec shade of gold. John Riley may spend too many days tending to his daughter’s dog.    

John Riley Twigs When you wake from a stranger’s sleep the day is not a dove to light in a green cloud of trees, nor does the sum of each tree’s branches equal the branch from which they come. John watches trees grow in North Carolina.