For a collection steeped in drowning, Wilson continuously keeps readers afloat, buoyed by the promise and ever-present force of a mother’s love.
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dry county: what hydrates more than
water? / whatever it is / will it bring back
feeling in your limbs / will it stay in your
stomach during the august photoshoot you
showed up to woefully hungover?
This morning he’d breathed
the death before death
that wakes us
but it was only thought snow, and nothing
when it began, a thingless veil, a reign
of molecules, so we could overlook
the beauties and hazards of being
burdened and cold.
He said he banged into a wall… or fell down.
There was no doubt some other reason
for his wound, his bandaged shoulder.
The pneumatic whine summed
to a roar of savior-engines, deafening.
We looked up at the contrails
through the quiet of our cigarette smoke.
the qualification to carry would appear
to be brute strength, as i’m praised
I hear him singing in the kitchen
as he stirs sugar into jasmine tea
Sorry about the crack in the wall of the kitchen,
said the formal women at the closing, signing over
their cared-for Foursquare