Body Echoes
Sarah Summerson, in ‘absent are the constellations my father plucked from sky’, cracks open secrets and explores the hidden spaces of family life.
Enjoy the opening lines, excerpted here from Issue 26, Spring 2020, on sale now until February 29th.
absent are the constellations my father plucked from sky
he drinks away the days
that make him older — the sun
grows longer — I am a pool of water
to ripple his own reflection
he walks the halls of my childhood home
his body echoes through my own
the hard thump of his bad leg
on the floors like a waltz
like he is not the angry drunk who
called …
Read on, in your copy of Issue 26, Spring 2020, ON SALE until February 29th!
Sarah Summerson is a poet hailing from small-town central Pennsylvania. Her work has been featured in a variety of publications including Confluence Magazine, OTHER Magazine, Tilde, Weaving the Terrain, and peculiar. You can follow her on X @SarahSummersun for all the tidbits that couldn’t find a home in a poem.
Are You a Poet?
For your chance to appear in the magazine and on the blog — and win $500! — enter the Magpie Award for Poetry, opening March 1st!
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