|Arts & Culture Archive|
By Lisa Olstein
Thousands of planes were flying and then
across makeshift desks, we sit on a makeshift floor;
Early on, distant relations kept calling.
tippling a seawall. Nothing: sparks
the flotsam of cars left standing perfectly still.
there you are on the porch, swath
there you are on the stairs where the cat fell
What have you found in the wind above town square?
Is there really a hush over everything as there used to be
Lisa Olstein is the author of the collections, "Radio Crackling, Radio Gone" (Copper Canyon Press, 2006), winner of the Hayden Carruth Award, and "Lost Alphabet" (Copper Canyon Press, 2009). She is associate director of MFA Program for Poets and Writers at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst.
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