From “Whose Sky, Between”
This day, how many white cranes remember all the bombs we’ve made to make the ‘other’
dead. Said: so we may never die. Said: hang a thousand small wings from our branches.
May one crane fly, one jasmine open, one thrush sing — all fragile night. One bloom of
a peace that cannot die.
. . . Because we will remember: blooms of jellyfish, men-o-war, and men of war,
long ravenous ancient fossils said to over take all seas of life. They never die. They clone.
From “No Modifier at All”
None. No one is not connected to someone else in the city who was hurt that night or dead. It is
the no-degrees of separation or escape. Or times we’ve been borne to. Everyone knows someone
who knew at least one in a city of millions. Open terraces under streetlamps and a fingernail of
moon. Tables of friends. A concert by The Eagles of Death Metal and autumn and blood and no
breath and the young….
Excerpts from Before the Drought
Born in New York City, Margo Berdeshevsky has traveled the world. She currently is writing in Paris, where she is considering conversations with Madame de Sevigne’s ghost who lurks, maybe, in the courtyard. Her newest poetry book is Before the Drought, forthcoming September 2017 from Glass Lyre Press. Her earlier collection is Between Soul & Stone, published by Sheep Meadow Press. Her book of illustrated stories, Beautiful Soon Enough (University of Alabama Press) received the American Book Review/Ronald Sukenick Award for Innovative Fiction. Her poetry collection, But a Passage in Wilderness, was also published by Sheep Meadow Press in 2007.
Excerpts provided by Rhizomatic