SPLIT THIS ROCK: Poems of Provocation
WITH BUTTER SKY
After a photograph by James Nachtwey–Djacovica, Kosovo, 1999
Morning, if it is morning.
Suit, hat, tie striding.
Scarecrow or man?
Not one bird
of the air
in numbered feathers.
Among rubble, one row house.
Gray windows. Can’t see
through. One street, clear.
Butter sky and striding.
Is he a neighbor, a father,
Will I ever be done
drawing my body
back into shell?
Nights I have been dreaming
a chambered candle glow
on panoramas of rubble.
I am beyond, regarding
dissolved cities. The sky is yellow,
ringed with night. I fail
to discover my own house.
Winslow's new book, Green Bodies (The Word Works),
tracks a movement through the grief of lost love and lost loved ones
and finds a way back to love, compassion, forgiveness. Her work has
appeared in numerous journals (including Poet Lore, The Southern
Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Innisfree Poetry Journal)
and anthologies (including Voices from Frost Places, The Why and
After, Poems of Recovery, and The Farmer's Daughter).
Her essays on American poets, style, prosody, teaching writing, metaphor,
and other topics have appeared widely in journals, encyclopedias, and
books. She teaches at The Catholic University of America and lives in
downtown Washington, DC.
in Volume 9, Number 1, Winter 2008.
more by this author:
Winslow: The Whitman Issue
The Wartime Issue
Evolving City Issue