In cinderblock silence . . . a sound night rich as a ripe wild grape, sweet strong as a soprano voice, this small, oblong being’s release, his body a quiver of song.

Hour One

To begin, I go shopping — coffee and tea and several extravagancies — as if one could lure the muse with dark chocolate and a cider-scented candle.

Greetings from Elena

Hi, everyone! I’m a poet from rural Illinois who finds herself transplanted to a south suburb of Chicago. A sense of place plays an important part in my poetry and my life, and recently my relationship with several important spaces has changed. I’m hoping that perhaps participating in this…