“This is how we grew afraid.
The moon wore its bright hat.
The sun was a great wheel
of fire. Children played jump rope
in the crowded street, and everywhere
was the autobiograpical,”
--from “Blur” which appears in the Spring 2017 issue (Volume 58, Issue 1)
Tell us about one of the first pieces you’ve written
After decades of severe writer’s block as a fiction writer, I turned, in 2004, to the writing of poetry, and one of first poems I completed contained these opening lines:
Where we come from
we watch for quarter moons,
black blisterbeetles, cracks in glass,
discarded ringneck snake skins,
vespid wasp nests, pennywort,
split basswood trunks, short-tailed shrews.