Summer 2015: Poetry
Six More Weeks
by Sarah Borsten
Spring won’t thaw wood smoke rising from the neighborhood like breath Irises stay under soil stories of the dead curled inside each frozen bulb We wrap red scarves tight against our throats and the frozen street keeps cracking like a gunshot
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As hot as the summer sun, 13 poets breathe light into the darkness. |
Tending to the worn, imperfect edges of life, five writers grapple with perimeters. |
Like a swarm of bees or a flock of birds: four artists layer meaning through detail. |
Four teens observe their world and put words to page like only young voices can. |
From emerging to established writers – meet the women behind our seventh issue’s voices and visions. |