Contributed By: Iain Britton
resting on concrete on
a plank of wood an old woman
counts herself lucky
*
absurdities
manifest themselves
a boy runs naked
up the street a heron
plucks white feathers
from its plumage
weather vanes
spin erratically
*
time is a wooden god is the
gull shit on its head is lichen
creeping
time walks on its bones
the old woman
shifts closer
to watch her water boiling
The mother was a woman who was a forest fire.
In Homewood you trip on the broken sidewalks i know are there in the mostly white neighborhoods but i notice them less like there is more fresh paint there is more time for landscaping when you don’t spend two hours while the sun comes up on Mother’s Day to stay with Mr. Jeff’s body so […]
From the Negative to the Norm: Jason Guriel, Kent Johnson, and Poetry Reviewing While Jason Guriel argues for critics to be more assertively negative in their reviews of poetry, his claims arrive with a kind of mute intensity in the pages of Poetry. Notably, he asks, “Shouldn’t the negative review, if we’re honest and adult about […]
