The Lost Child: Ozark Poems, by Wesley McNair. The human reluctance to confront unpleasant truths constitutes the principal conflict of Wesley McNair’s poetic sequence
My father stirs in the kitchen boiling coffee, crisping fried potatoes, night sleep a seldom companion. The sun a pale light through the windows.
−Hiroshima 1946 My mother When my hair began falling out, my mother got down on her knees and picked up one hair at a
Your thinning hair has the look of wishes. Even your skin is riddled with white space, a fiction. And your arms’ flesh-colored wash is