W. W. Norton: What the Living Do

WOW indeed. I REMEMBER YOU. Marie Howe.

…and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless…

wwnorton:

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep,…

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    well, fuck
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    What poetry does.
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    Best poem
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