Two new poems by alumna Jenny Johnson (poetry, ’11) appear online in Waxwing:

Little Apophat

Your child is a little lion cub

ready to tear into

a hunk of antelope is

a fuse bursting into

electric sprays of light

is trouble, you

say, like me. Has

your eyes though, pale

as the eggs of quail.

Continue reading online. 

Dorothy’s Trash:

No dog-eared copy of The Price of Salt,

no nude drawings from a community art class,

no painstakingly Kinseyian inventories,

no anagram tucked in a World Atlas

where the Tapajós and Amazon rivers meet,

no souvenir (stucco wasp nest?) legible as the one

Miss Bishop left, no tickets stubs,

no letter typed in future perfect:

You will have to lift the shag carpet beneath the oak dresser.

Continue reading online. 

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