Poetry: Swear It

Swear It –Marge Pier­cy The Crooked Inher­i­tance for Eva  My moth­er swore ripely, inven­tive­ly a flash­ing storm of Amer­i­can and Yid­dish thun­der­ing onto my head and shoul­ders. My father swore briefly, like an ax descend­ing on the nape of a sin­ner. But…

Poetry: To be of use


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On a much, much bet­ter note…this set­tles it. Marge Pier­cy’s life work has to go on my wish list. To be of use  –Marge Pier­cy From Cir­cles on the Water The peo­ple I love the best jump into work head first with­out dal­ly­ing in the…

Poetry: A New Constellation

Ganked with­out shame from slow_poke_poly A New Con­stel­la­tion –Marge Pier­cy We go inter­twined, him and you and me, her and him, you and her, each the cen­ter of our own cir­cle of attrac­tion and com­pul­sion and grav­i­ty. What a con­stel­la­tion we make:…

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