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Meredith Briggs Skeath


Outside the Orchard

At dinner I asked for a newspaper. (A poem of mine, someone had said, might be printed there.) It was, inexplicably, on page one, not buried beside the changes in school lunch menus. Nothing but the poem was on the front page— of a paper already ha [...]

Bridget Mcgonagle Briggs (1887-1913)

Autumn 1989 | Poetry

I don't look like my mother or father, but like a grandmother who died 50 years before I was  born: genes like dolphins surface unpredictably. Her unschooled ballerina's posture, her hair swept up  leaves her forehead clear. She's looking s [...]