Reviewed by Mark B. Hamilton Throughout this fine collection, Mary Catherine Harper explores a labyrinth of ambiguities: between abstractions and the tangible, between personal
Anyone might look down and in a Rorschach moment see birthmarks or bruises. Anyone might see budding periwinkle or a mother’s face jutting from
I’ve been mortal but free. In one part I drove a hundred miles for a second date. Mid-October, moonless dark, flatland town. Dinner on
I’m riveted on you daily, awkwardly huddled in my shoes and socks, one with a big toe hole. The problem with youth is the