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Kermes Red

By Melissa Range Poetry

Called crimson, called vermilion—“little worm” in both the Persian and the Latin, red eggs for the carmine dye, the insect’s brood crushed stillborn from her dried body, aswarm in a bath of oak ash lye and alum to form the pigment the Germans called Saint John’s blood— the saint who picked brittle locusts for food,…

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By Kathleen Wakefield Poetry

The river heaved our boat on its back. I loved how the narrowness of my life opened into that prairie of waves, big sky. One evening we saw the sun’s last rays lift an island from the water; rock and pines floated mid-air, unreachable mirage hanging like a painting of Saint John on Patmos dreaming…

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