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Poetry
… will bear in the red air. They don’t. Before the snail dies (and it dies in “One Mississippi”) the peaches liquefy, the grapes, … We paint it anyway, going slow to compensate for our ridiculous gloves, stiff necks, the dim …
Poetry
… The men in the reports mostly returned home and mostly died quietly. Others remained for the next war and a few the … ways the wars of our youth, but the immense granite memorials saying “We will never forget” and “We will always …
Poetry
… there until my eyes hurt. Our eyes must be on loan. When we die, we must take them out and return them to the hawks … children used to. I know my eyes have been used, that they come from a hawk. I know this because the wind never …
Poetry
… a well of fears? No ordinary rule applies because you’ve died already, died and died, as fresh annointings—salt, baptismal rain— become the ritual made new by moving on and moving through. …
Poetry
… stars, My dear love.” “You and I, my dear love, Shall never die, never die,” “Not again, my dear love. Lie on your back and hark …
Poetry
Scenes From a Documentary History of Mississippi 1. King Cotton, 1907 From every corner of the photograph, flags wave down the main street in Vicksburg. Stacked to form an arch, the great bales of cotton rise up from the ground like a giant swell, a …