Here

Here Chana Bloch Anything even the black satin road where it catches the streaked oils of stoplights as I drive home alone from the hospital rain pocking the windshield tires slicing the pooled water to a spume taller than the car. Even that patch where the road fell in, rutted as a face, even that cries out: Look at me don’t turn away, admit the ravage is beautiful. The world insists: I was here before you and your pain, I am here and I will outlast you. Yes, says the mind stroking itself into life again as a body, taking what comfort it can.

from Mrs. Dumpty, an astounding collection of poems about the end of Bloch’s marriage, about how love is born and how it dies.

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