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Published August 27, 2003 at 4:00 a.m.
Only through the upside-down and
backwards book the feeling emerged,
turned into a dog, and ran off.
So like a hill the feeling--climbed upon, grassy,
view of clouds and buses parked in stalls
like horses, sleeping with the children's cries
in their bright bellies. Our indigestion is this:
our bad dreams are this: the ragged
too-happy children, the hungry, wild children.
I don't want to let your particulars go,
my made-up, ancient, unrequited
story. Tell yourself to me.
Talk until I wake.
-- Emily Skoler
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'Hull Pond in January,' Poem by Chard deNiord
Dec 19, 2018 -
Kerrin McCadden Wins Vermont Book Award
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Found on Twitter
Dec 10, 2014 -
Digging Swale’s Remix Record With the Cheap Thrills Record Club
Sep 24, 2014 - More »
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