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Catherine Doty’s pitiless poems beautifully show us what we don’t want to see: children’s poverty, abuse, neglect. And their meanness. Poor children living in squalor, which Doty’s language often veils in lyrical glamor.
You stood, small and mute,
on the stoop where she’d left you
with a tiny, plastic suitcase,
like a bad joke, beside you.
She left him food and locked him in the house
to go to work. No blame, no money
Just in case you think I got screwed up only recently, let me tell you about the fire: My wife in those days was a candle maker as well as … Continue reading →
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