Thursday Night Poetry, Thanksgiving Hangover Edition
Not really hung over, at least not in the alcoholic sense of the word--more of the binge eating sense. Still, we had a great time with friends and I spent most of the day away from my computer, so it was a very good day.
Today's poet is another old compatriot, this time from Arkansas, Sandy Longhorn. I thought about her yesterday because Amy was going through some books and she found a postcard from Sandy that one of us had used as a bookmark. I googled Sandy to see if there was any word on her--she'd been a finalist for the Walt Whitman prize a couple of years ago--and what do I discover but that she's gone and won a different prize and one based in Florida no less. No word yet on when the book will be out, but you can bet I'll get one when it does.
So here's Sandy, with a poem from the Arkansas Literary Forum:
Dear S —
All week the small bushes pushed
out their new leaves, splashes
of bright yellow-green crowding
the low hills, breaking apart winter’s
cold patina. News of M—’s disease
last Christmas settled on my heart
like snow, the kind that stays.
This thaw is hard-pressed to clear
the ice floes in my veins.
Today, I watch from my window
as buds appear on the willows
lining the creek. I’m enclosing
one new growth, still warm, almost furry.
I lick it like a stamp, paste it to the page
still green, wondering how it will reach you.