Molly Fisk: Native Landscape
Back then, the new growth on redwoods was the brightest
green and tasted of citrus, a good vitamin source if you were lost
in the woods, which I wasn’t, I was pure found girl skipping…
Molly Fisk: She Lived to See
ate only bites but
always well: warm boysenberry pie,
bone broth matzoh ball soup
Molly Fisk: God Speaks to the Rope Swings of Summer
in his gentlest voice, reminding them
about change, about fallow fields and the quiet
everything needs to grow stronger
Molly Fisk: The Lineage
the poets, tethered to each other
in the popular mind as if we were one
big family and we are
Molly Fisk: Elegy (for Leah)
her infinite soprano
and my street drawl voicing words that could
depress a saint
Molly Fisk: Firmament
Daylight and darkness are real, and seasons,
but everything else is a story…
Molly Fisk: That Kind of Woman
We try them on as subjects, our mythical forebears,
wondering who we are: Penelope. Persephone. Eve.
Eurydice. Sleeping Beauty, Cassandra, Ophelia, Cinderella.
Barbie.
Molly Fisk: The Fox Laughs at the Hounds
voices chorusing woods and fields, ringing
off the stone walls she runs beside, light
and fleet, silent as new snow falling through
Molly Fisk: Orion Over Burning Man
Last night at dusk a log cabin rumbled past,
front porch with three rockers, gable window.
Molly Fisk: Peace
One of those days when the grain of a wooden table
seems more certain, as if ordained, when gravity feels
like praise
Molly Fisk: Singing Canyon Sonnet
I have to say something about the blue grasses by the side of the road, the red rock rising behind them, a lacy kind of scrub juniper, yellow-green in afternoon … Continue reading
Lauren Camp: Exposure
After Ansel Adams’ “Moonrise Over Hernandez, New Mexico 1941″
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
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
