More on: Katy Didden

If you expect the open air and find instead your feet fast in the dust so that you slip at great speeds down a hard sky, then love it. Rebalance on your three left feet. Extend your right three tenderly, tapping one black tip at a time. And the glass is good, as is your…

Wasp, genus hymenopterae Hymenaeus, the god of weddings These days we gods are diminished things, black winged. I float like the infinitesimal hesitation, the unheard breath after I: “I wasp will.” “I wasp do.” I am the sadness shadowing the speeches of fathers: “Now she’s wasp elegant, wasp a woman.” I’m the one hovering over…

after Caravaggio Everyone loves figs. Imagine the Virgin imagining figs Paint the girl in your studio modeling Mary as she stares past your shoulder at a plate of sliced figs. Imagine the cherubs imagining figs. Imagine green, Capucine yellow, imagine mercurial vermilion in the black background of a body, see my oiled wing as the…

Blessed Are Those Who Yearn New Poetry in Review The Glacier’s Wake by Katy Didden (Pleiades Press, 2013) God Loves You by Kathryn Maris (Seren Books UK, 2013) Incarnadine by Mary Szybist (Graywolf Press, 2013)   AT THE END of Paradiso, Dante, after confessing his inability to describe the vision of Love he sees, nonetheless…

Paul Shaw breeds insomniac flies. He tilts test tubes at unstable angles, then watches wide-eyed as the flies inside go haywire. Thousands of flies fly inside Paul’s hypotheses; thousands of flies defy them. As fast as he identifies a pattern, the field of sleep expands. Paul celebrated tenure in October, and all the Shaws flew…