Reviewed by Mark B. Hamilton Throughout this fine collection, Mary Catherine Harper explores a labyrinth of ambiguities: between abstractions and the tangible, between personal
The cat’s brown coat, but not the tongue he licks it with. Winter light, a slick of simmering gray. A petal from the
In the bowl, cobalt-blue, you collect each spilled pebble, imposing order against his going. On the table, stacked just so— Mandelstam, Hopkins, Plath,
I am sick of the dialectic of hunter and prey, baiting traps with peanut butter while you find secret passageways inside my cupboards. What