the exiles
ghost
& middle
stair
I drop
down the back
of my brother’s
t-shirt
a wasp
and for years
he has
dry skin.
there are words
our mother said
that we’ve used
to protect her. this day
(to that)
gunshot
means gather
eggs. sleep
is your shepherd’s
prison.
for Maurice Manning
as blind
as hair
yeah that’s
your father
spelled
into baiting
hosanna’s
cricket
by a red
a gaslit
mouse
Sara Moore Wagner has three poems at ~ isacoustic* ~
walking
a blank
stretch
to rival / the disappearing /
wilderness
of starvation
/ the bride
of reflection
with her dog
made of sticks
reflections, reviews, at {isacoustic*}:
on poet Eleanor Gray’s ~ marshland moon ~
Eleanor Gray is a poet who plucks fruit from the idea of an outside world that she might be fed by imagery alone in the aftermath of not beginning.
/
on poet Darren C. Demaree’s ~ Two Towns Over ~
To hold this book, with its odes to the corners of drug houses, its sweet wolves, and its towns skipped over by sameness, is to return the clay its handmade hope.
/
on poet Meghan McClure’s ~ Portrait of a Body in Wreckages ~
McClure…fearlessly rejects the foreign scholarship of all things body and asks the reader to love more than once any form seeking to be made whole at the altars of explanation, inquiry, and wakefulness. It is an undertaking imbued with vulnerability, and McClure is able to make a beggar of scar and a chooser of skin.
/
on poet Ruth Awad’s ~ Set to Music a Wildfire ~
Awad is no bystander, but as a poet who can achieve the trinity of being there for her subject, for herself, and for her reader, she joins rather than invades.
crucifix / at rest / in the rabbit’s
dark
/ boy
who scratches
breath
