Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Molly Fisk: Desolation :: Reservation

Thousands of acres of parched ground. Dead sage, scattered shacks made from tin and rescued plywood, burned-out single-wides, pick-ups rusting in place where their engines stopped. No sign of life … Continue reading

November 26, 2018 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: Summer Lightning

In the morning while it’s still cool we hose down the yard, watch a red sun crest the ridge, haloed in wildfire smoke   that drifted 200 miles and stalled … Continue reading

September 10, 2018 · Leave a comment

Molly Fisk: Cancer, again

this time a slow- growing rarity tracing delicate tendrils through kidney and liver, the lung’s sturdy wall, artery somewhere I can’t remember, though twice I’ve been told. How the mind … Continue reading

July 18, 2018 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: Let Me Call You Sweetheart

Yesterday a young man called me sweetheart and then widened his eyes and asked “Is that OK, to call you sweetheart? I call everyone I like sweetheart, even the men.” … Continue reading

June 2, 2018 · Leave a comment

Molly Fisk: Nine Short Lives

One of my cats just jumped to the floor from the bathroom sink, where he’d been sipping drops of leftover water, and made a very loud thump. I looked up … Continue reading

May 16, 2018 · Leave a comment

Molly Fisk: National Politics

Even though we watch every year as the snow melts and runs along ditches and gutters, finds the low places, enters the creeks and the culverts, fanning out wider to … Continue reading

March 21, 2018 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: An Apiary Has Nothing to Do with Apes

One of the things I’m good at is linking people together. Not match-making,  although two couples have married who fell in love during my poetry class. Usually it’s more practical: … Continue reading

March 12, 2018 · 2 Comments

Molly Fisk: Heading home

ducking under the last heart-shaped yellow birch leaves, past the mottled white bark, stepping lightly off the curb over a stream of this year’s first real rain as it scours … Continue reading

February 26, 2018 · Leave a comment

Molly Fisk: Clichés of Our Times

I am not so blessed or so not blessed, being a lapsed Unitarian who believes only in oaks and sunlight, nor am I honored, a once-bright thought now sunk into … Continue reading

February 7, 2018 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: On the Disinclination to Scream

If I had been a ten year old stranger and you had tripped me in a dark alley, say, downtown, instead of our mutual living room I’m sure I would … Continue reading

December 28, 2017 · 2 Comments

Molly Fisk: Hunter’s Moon

  Mid-December, dusk, and the sky slips down the rungs of its blue ladder into indigo. A late-quarter moon hangs in the air above the ridge like a broken plate … Continue reading

December 11, 2017 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: Deportee

Last week someone in our town ran a stop sign. Well, probably 47 people ran stop signs, but only one resulted in the threat of imminent deportation to the Grand … Continue reading

December 1, 2017 · 1 Comment

Molly Fisk: American Riddle

When you can’t figure out how to stop the war in Iraq, much less how to make enough money to pay your mortgage, moving the hundred and eighty dollars from … Continue reading

November 16, 2017 · 2 Comments

Molly Fisk: Wealth Measured in Persimmons

Despite my best efforts, I’m a pioneer-woman-manque: I want to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I don’t have the stamina for it. I let kale and beet greens get fuzzy … Continue reading

November 4, 2017 · 1 Comment

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