Click here to listen to Lisa Russ Spaar read this poem.
Stars of the Great and Small Bears, lost in a cobalt padlock above Detroit, the orient coruscations of car factories, skating ponds, six-lane highways, now lumbering across decades into my childhood suburb, that rimed ruin— picnic table, dispirited shucks and obeisant leeks of our winter garden, homunculus at the mind's edge—I can't return to you, though I believe you're calling me from the polar house of hibernal fear with its skirted vanity table, its angry mirror & Bakelite brush, bristles up, still fleeced with a child's hair, a wavering frequency in the key of oblivion, mammalian, contracting.
TODAY IN SLATE
Meet the New Bosses
How the Republicans would run the Senate.
The Government Is Giving Millions of Dollars in Electric-Car Subsidies to the Wrong Drivers
Scotland Is Just the Beginning. Expect More Political Earthquakes in Europe.
Cheez-Its. Ritz. Triscuits.
Why all cracker names sound alike.
Friends Was the Last Purely Pleasurable Sitcom
This Whimsical Driverless Car Imagines Transportation in 2059
- Protesters Take to the Streets to Sound Alarm on Climate Change in New York, Across the World
- Knife-Carrying White House Jumper is Vet who Feared “Atmosphere Was Collapsing”
- North Korea: American Sentenced to Hard Labor Wanted to Become “Second Snowden”
- Almost One in Four Americans Support Idea of Splitting From the Union
Did America Get Fat by Drinking Diet Soda?
A high-profile study points the finger at artificial sweeteners.