The smell of apples seeps under the bedroom door. For weeks, hundreds of apples have sat in brown paper bags on the kitchen floor. This morning, coddling moth larvae hung from the kitchen counter on silken strings. Trying to hold on to summer, a worm clutches my finger, he clings. A strong flick of the […]
When people were ugly, they grew long scraggily beards, didn’t shave their armpits, burned bras and smoked pot. When people were ugly, they believed the revolution would not be televised, taxed the rich at 70%, fought for civil rights and solar power. Too bad everyone now believes, only that they must be beautiful.
by Mary Gunderson In more despair; this hand that reaches Breaking the air in forward motion It was the grasping, cage in hand O the weight, the moving body This hand in grief This hand in memory The detestable water, your air It measured my tears Each drop of it Moving side to side Claws […]
by Mary Gunderson It was going to be an blank title—it could almost have been a blank essay too. This is exactly what I felt after reading five of Ezra Pound’s poems. In a way, I don’t really know how to lead into this. I feel as jumbled now as when I was studying the […]
by Mary Gunderson I think I found my poet. When I saw the title of one of Lorna Dee Cervantes poems, Cannery Town in August, I knew immediately that I was going to fall in love with her. It doesn’t matter if she is talking about love or tuna cans, Lorna Dee Cervantes writes each […]