Reviewed by Mark B. Hamilton Throughout this fine collection, Mary Catherine Harper explores a labyrinth of ambiguities: between abstractions and the tangible, between personal
Up before sunrise, the air chill, eight of us march in silence, lenses shielded from morning dew, heading for a grove of banyan trees.
Jim’s barber shop is butter yellow with a shelf of taxidermy on the wall, an eider duck at one end across the too-vast linoleum
The white-haired matron in the road-side hut rattles two bags, “You pickin’? Bushel’r peck?” Noa turns away, clings. I try: I love YOU, a