Rob Taylor reads “Harrison River Valley, November” First the salmon are a smell, then a sound, then dorsal fins: a symphony of miniature Jaws fast cuts. Eagles gorge upon the living, seagulls tug apart the nearly dead. Our children stand transfixed. We offer them our meagre facts. A belly-up chinook…| Arc Poetry
My mother was born to a wayward tribe / of women whose hands were always / in the shooing motion| Arc Poetry
Andrea Scott reads “Saucer Magnolia” I marked my lost pregnancy and my last one, all in one shot.Out front I planted a sapling—magenta saucer magnolia—and, beside the root ball, the living baby’s placenta. The midwife said her husband wanted it out of their freezer, and sooner than later.My preteens played…| Arc Poetry
Clare Goulet’s first poetry collection, centered on the North American lichen, is a wonderful attempt at decoding etymological symbols through poetry.| Arc Poetry