Bluestocking at twilight
“She’d watch her victims—only in a mirror—/ Their eyes held loose verbs from books she’d once read/ and read just once.” Weekend poem, by Mark J. Mitchell.
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Night Life
“Each day is not like this: Her edges showed sharp/ as diamonds one Tuesday before Wednesday dark/ pulled her from rain and dropped her in a car.” Poem of the Week (April 15), by Mark J. Mitchell.
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Inquisition
“And these are the verbs, neatly/ stacked. You think they bite. They/ don’t, but they sting a bit.” Weekend poem, by Mark J. Mitchell.
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A Dreamed Seascape
“The sea/ is slate, still. What passes for light/ weighs heavy on you.” Poem of the Week (September 17), by Mark J. Mitchell
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