Reviewed by Beth Brown Preston Diamond Forde has released her second collection of poetry—The Book of Alice. This collection is a frank and honest
Only mid-June cattails molting time slips unfelt. At the beach the Indiana shoreline turned unfamiliar overnight: the tree line moved stalks the coal stack.
What I had forgotten was like a chasm, blue stones in a purple brook, a bird perched on my thumb. Hands popped through walls,
At first, she’s tiny, the size of a bucket, then soon my grief is everybody’s darling, a curly-haired toddler and into everything. The dirt.