Alice B. Fogel

The subject of the fan is a mere suggestion, open to interpretation.   Painted bat wing, paper leaf, it knows its way in the dark.   Both shield against light and quickener of flame, the fan’s act   of concealment perfects flirtation, graces grief. Folded in on itself, dipped   in clear water, then—flashed and […]

A moment of joy—that surprise of uplift: Standing on a wet street in town, I looked up and saw —then, as suddenly losing it, had to say only thought I saw—a bridge! High over the river it was an unexpected span between sides, between times, spiky and bright against the nearly night. But of course […]

When I realized I’d drifted deep into those riveted, river-resistant lily pads big as masks, I was reminded of how when you’re trapped   in insistence that it doesn’t matter that surely means it does. My oars slicing down on them through the water thick with sticky greens and ropy stems   made the sound […]

Have use of edges. Alongside field—crosshatch trees to their meadow pedestal. Way is seam here beneath eaves where when further forest rises and effaces sun camouflaging silver bleed congeals.  Smaller than rivers go sleek like rivers and like rivers slip unseen below earthly surface things— pour with invisible volition between storm-tamped weeds—slip clear through stone […]