In the wake of a prefabricated passenger ship the ocean, as if with an old cotton blanket weighs deeply on a body wide awake The sky in the eyes of a scattered school of fish grows brighter and brighter. The bridge that spans the brine crosses also the opaque middle-aged mind dark path between two precise terms My mother grieving writes to her faraway son Waterbirds, lonely, follow the lights toward regions of cold where they hover This evening the hotel room's thermosystem thundered without rest. Number 634 said the key in the unlit hallway In my homeland some valuable persons are disappearing
Must-Read Poetry for March Nick Ripatrazone reviews seven poetry collections published this month, including books by Traci Brimhall, Carl Phillips, Lawrence Joseph, Jane Hirshfield, Virgil Suárez, Craig Santos Perez, and Adam Clay. via THE MILLIONS
What Sparks Poetry: Martha Rhodes on Theodore Roethke's "The Geranium" "I really heard him. He was talking to me. He was sitting on my bed, drunk and slurring as he said it and he was saying (confessing) 'And that was scary' to himself, but also—I repeat—to me. I was stunned. I thought, 'He can do that? He can do that?'"
