a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
At my age, mother to four. Flushing, she pinched a nerve in my father’s elbow. Some native to that place shape my eyes. Both sides passed down, what can I claim.
Another grandmother approached the wasp nest with hinged tea strainer and boiling water, sewed glow-worms for three daughters. Her husband strung the loom with rough wool.
Moths found last winter’s sweaters. Withered basil, each apartment dims. Glimmer. I speak a language no known mother tongued.
Visit a fortress near Urbino. Examine the embrasure. Who proceeded me alive then. Beaches of Mumbles Head, woods of Tennessee. I do not know what they built. Only clouds move the same.
Turn west to face the fields, acquire lack.
Bronwen Tate teaches Writing and Literature at Marlboro College, a tiny radically egalitarian educational utopia buried in snow in Southern Vermont. Bronwen has an MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University and a PhD in Comparative Literature from Stanford University. She has published five poetry chapbooks, as well as essays on the poetics of Lyn Hejinian, Bernadette Mayer, Frank Stanford, and others. She teaches broadly, reads eclectically, and cooks a lot.