Kate B. Harding

    Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution. – Vladimir Nabokov     There Is No Word   By Tony Hoagland   There isn’t a word for walking out of the grocery store with a gallon jug of milk in a plastic sack that should have been bagged in double layers   —so that [...]

  Let out your social song, you lonesome wretch, you sack of bones. Be unafraid. There are others, alone, who want to listen. Mary and Louis Leakey digging at Oduvai Gorge, Tanzania, Africa.   The Heart’s Archaeology On some fundless expedition, you discover it beneath a pyracantha bush carved from the hip bone of a [...]

Slip-pilings on the Brooklyn littoral —the poles still tarry, flimsy; the ferry terminus with its walledup doors wan doorshapes on eroded sills. Downstream, the strutwork of the Williamsburg cable tower threw its cool shadow half a mile inland over tarpaper seams, gantried water butts, and splintery tenement cornices milled with acanthus and classical grasses of [...]

    “The Ball” by Wislawa Szymborska As long as nothing can be known for sure (no signals have been picked up yet), as long as Earth is still unlike the nearer and more distant planets, as long as there’s neither hide nor hair of other grasses graced by other winds, of other treetops bearing [...]