An Interview with Daye Phillippo

An interview with alum Daye Phillipo (poetry, ’14) appears at Shenandoah:

Are there any parts of this poem that are autobiographical?

Oh yes, that group of eleven young turkeys really did straggle through my backyard one morning. We live on twenty acres—pastures, woods, and the Little Shawnee River running through—in the midst of farmland, so we see wildlife regularly: deer, coyote, raccoon, opossum, rabbit, squirrel, a fox now and then, and a host of songbirds and insects. I’d spotted adult turkeys before but never young ones, and never that large of a group. It was especially odd to see them so close to the house and garden.

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Four Poems by Jayne Benjulian

Four poems by alum Jayne Benjulian (poetry, ’13) appear at the Delaware Poetry Review:

His Boots
1
Jefferson’s boots
stand against the wall, they are small
for a man who shaved off the top
of a mountain for a view: Blue
Ridge and one thousand yards of mud

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Two Poems by Jennifer Givhan

Two poems by alum Jennifer Givhan (poetry, ’15), “Bird Woman” and “Bloom,” appear at The Boiler:

BIRD WOMAN

Sacagawea emerges from the hedgehog cacti
in the lot behind our crumpling house
heavy with cradleboard & mistaken

for a token of peace. Listen
to the rustling in the sagebrush.

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“The Resurrection of the Body: On Family, Mental Illness, and Grief” by Rachel Brownson

An essay by alum Rachel Brownson (poetry, ’14) appears at The Toast:

My grandparents’ living room was almost too warm after the cutting December wind outside, and the Christmas tree blinked pink and gold, ringed with piles of boxes. My cousins and their parents could be heard laughing and bickering in the den downstairs, and as we shed our chilly coats and exchanged the usual hugs, I looked around for my uncle Dave, wondering which version of him was here today. As we sat down I heard his heavy step on the deck behind the sliding doors, and he came slowly into view: tall in his dusty-looking coat, his round belly pressing at the zipper, his University of Michigan knit cap pulled down over his ears, cigarette smoke emerging in clouds from behind his graying beard. He was pacing the deck as he often did, walking on the wooden benches, followed closely by his hyperactive little black poodle. Seeing us, he stubbed out his cigarette, came into the room in a gust of cold, and made his round of hugs. “Rachelieu,” he said—pleased as always with the nickname he’d found for me—as he wrapped me in his big smoky arms.

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“Awnings” by Laura Maher

A poem by alum Laura Maher (poetry, ’14) appears at The Collagist:

The night I watched the hawk rip apart a pigeon
in a second-story windowsill,
I was dressed as a bird.            Red feather and flame,
men kept remarking, “You make a good bird lady.” Feathers drifted

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