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Prufrock and Pricey Pants: My Favorite Poem

By Crystal Hurd The first time that I encountered The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, I was an undergraduate English Lit major at the University of Tennessee. Newly married, I also worked a part-time job at a local high-end retail outlet to make ends meet. I remember nibbling on my lunch with my trusty…

Image by Bethany Rohde

What’s Buried and What’s Not

By Bethany Rohde I’m balancing on the curvature of roots mossed over in unreal green. They carry a familiar bone structure: these rough-skinned, working hands That even now nourish tree flesh in the bluing dark of Monday. I trace one root. It skims grass-shallows, and delves below my sight — to extract its choice elixir:…

Image by Holly Ordway

Signs of Life: Binsey Poplars

One of the saddest, most moving poems of man’s wanton destruction of natural beauty is Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Binsey Poplars.” These now-famous trees had lined the River Thames as it passes by the village of Binsey, in Oxfordshire, but in 1879, they were cut down – a sorry blow indeed: My aspens dear, whose airy…

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Signs of Life

We’re a hardy lot here in New England. Last week we saw blizzard, “historic” snowfall, then another foot (meh, what’s 12 inches after 3 feet?), mixed with rain, freezing rain, and sleet. They’re talking about more to come tomorrow. Lovely. We hunker down. We make do. Like The Inside Chance, the first poem in Marge…