227. An American Sunrise: Joy Marjo

My mother always said that I thought too big. My voice is this blog and my teaching, both of which are unremarkable (in my mind). ¬†Yet, I remind myself daily of the novels that have no publisher, the teacher recognition I do not earn or the public policy I am subjected to because I dare... Continue Reading →

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150. Chicago: Carl Sandburg

I love the first booming line: Hog Butcher to the World. This is the first poem I remember that wasn't a) cute, b) historically important, or c) I was supposed to like. It was in an anthology and the page opened and there it was. We were not assigned it--growing up in New England, the... Continue Reading →

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