Len Krisak

Under their trapdoor brass lid buried flushIn marble lay the notes: a shallow tombOf keys that Lazarus-like would ring the chimesAt consecration. Just the lightest brushOf fingertips, the slightest hint of rush,And error filled the narrow little roomIt was . . . . Continue Reading »

I never shot a commie or a Nazi In ’66, but this is what I did: Field-stripped an M1 when I was in ROTC. There were a lot of metal things that slid, And springs and clips and T-shaped bits galore. Clip latches, swivels, trigger guard, and trigger All fell apart. I never went to war. I think it . . . . Continue Reading »

Already gravid, she ascended, nearly bereft of any solace, faith, or hope. The pregnant matron, proudly and austerely knowing, met her on the slope, aware of all that Mary need not share. Since she was resting on her suddenly, the heavy frau embraced with patient care, and waited till the younger . . . . Continue Reading »

Breakwater by Catharine Savage Brosman Mercer University Press, 112 pages, $30 If classical meter really did begin with literal feet (versifiers out for a walk, two short steps for one long “foot,” and so forth), then calling a lot of modern metrical poetry pedestrian wouldn’t really . . . . Continue Reading »

What good is it that girls need never go to war     Or wear a shield or march in columns orBow down to Mars, if they take out a bloody knife     And blind the womb that bears a fated life?The first who ever tried to cut away her child     Deserved to die . . . . Continue Reading »