Transit of Venus
The actors mill about the party saying rhubarb
because other words do not sound like conversation.
In the kitchen, always, one who’s just discovered
beauty, his mouth full of whiskey and strawberries.
He practices the texture of her hair with his tongue;
in her, five billion electrons pop their atoms. Rhubarb
in electromagnetic loops, rhubarb, rhubarb, the din increases.
Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon
*Courtesy of the Academy of American Poetry for National Poetry Month
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I’m in the process of putting an book order in on Amazon. I know. I don’t need anymore books, but I’ve almost made my way through the “shelf” that was gathering dust, so I feel it is time to replenish. I just added The Writer’s Notebook put out by Tin House that is featured in this article in the NY Times:
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