I make no particular claims for the poem below. It suffers from several flaws, at least two fatal to its poetic worth. But I thought of it the other day, for some reason, and remembered how strange it was when an early version appeared many years ago in Joe Bruchac’s venerable journal The Greenfield Review. I had published just a handful of poems at the time, so when the issue arrived in the mail I immediately looked up my name on the contents page and–like every ego-ridden writer–flipped to the page that cradled my poem.Read More