Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Jeff Oaks: My Father’s Feet

Among the things I was afraid of inheriting from my father, his snoring and his high-arched feet were the most frightening. At night, in moonlight, terrifying. His feet all his … Continue reading

December 22, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jeff Oaks: Out of fragments, always

When I drive her home one night, a friend whose house I’ve only been to once is amazed that I remember how to get there, and I admit that some … Continue reading

November 29, 2016 · Leave a comment

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