Henry Hart

From a different country, I write to tell you the sun has lowered only an inch in the hickory. Cowbirds no longer divebomb groundhogs eating clover between Christmas trees. Frogs no longer tune their bull horns over tadpoles wriggling like black sp [...]

In the room where my childhood ended warheads of frost flared from panes. A Time photo of Kennedy and Khrushchev hung over a tattered map of Cuba. The music teacher hunched over his piano, gold tooth glinting under a hive of lights. His black hair s [...]

Above the fumes of paper mills, tarred shacks ringed with truck parts she lugged her green cocoon. By the bare cliff where snow still clung to shadows, she knelt tightening wires across a skeleton of metal. What was she thinking, so alone as she plu [...]