Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. Comes ...
A new anthology highlights the charms and drawbacks of very brief verse. By Elisa Gabbert I remember where I was when I first read two short poems. One, Margaret Atwood’s “You Fit Into Me” (“you fit ...
It’s easy to think of Christina Rossetti (1830–1894) as a caricature of her own extremes: morbid and (as other of her poems we have run in the Sun suggest) maybe a little hysterical, certainly strange ...
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