Wait, my children are growing / too fast and we neglected / the garden this summer
Broken, and again broken, / sick and scraped, my Tree.
There is an ineffable green / and there is no justice / in minimal effort and lack of vocabulary.
show me how to / sound in the world, / how to / speak with a voice patient / as weeds, expectant as wheat
Malice became the word we wanted / to drink from, the long-stemmed glass / you broke by squeezing your fist, / the tart wine I poured on the wound.
Suppose you were a pilgrim / chilled beneath your heavy tunic, / your village receding / as your steps carry you farther / than you have ever traveled.
Laura Reece Hogan’s award-winning collection of poems, Litany of Flights (Paraclete Press), draws us into a watercolor of words where the material world she vividly presents bleeds into another world, one invisible yet powerful in its beauty and Providence.
I live now in a land of ritual courtesies. / There is gentleness, mi compañera. Is it that way in / / The ghost world?
Did you sense / a chill before you ascended that ladder / your pupils growing in the barn light / your child hand gripping rail