About the Author

Wendy McGrath

Wendy McGrath was born in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. Her poetry and short fiction has been published in such publications as Descant, Poetry in Motion, and the NeWest Review. Her previous novel, Recurring Fictions, was released through the University of Alberta Press in 2002. Santa Rosa, was published by NeWest Press in April 2011, and its followup, North East, arrived in October 2014. Her next project, a poetry collection by the name of A Revision of Forward, was released in Fall 2015.

Books by this Author
North East

North East

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
tagged : literary
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Revision of Forward, A
Excerpt

Carpenter

he studies blueprints opened like sacred scrolls
and the flat of a carpenter's pencil sharpened with a knife
hovers over runic lines of stairs rooms doors and windows
he conjures solid walls from lines on paper

and the flat of a carpenter's pencil sharpened with a knife
estimates on scraps and pencils in numbers Xs and question marks
he conjures solid walls from lines on paper
the blue will release its ghosts

estimates on scraps and pencils in numbers Xs and question marks
then with hammer and nails he moves between two-by-fours
the blue releases its ghosts
and touches the lines on paper in hope

then with hammer and nails he moves between two-by-fours
remembering thick blueprint tablecloths corner-weighted
the blue releases its ghosts
ketchup bottle coffee cup salt shaker ashtray

remembering thick blueprint tablecloths corner-weighted
that illuminates the story behind those curling sheets
ketchup bottle coffee cup salt shaker ashtray
or a TV screen curving outward blue and warm on my palms

that illuminates the story behind those curling sheets
they come to mean nothing: like wood that shrieks from a plane
or a TV screen curving outward blue and warm on my palms
letters and words set foundations below the horizon

wood that shrieks from a plane comes to mean nothing
and his blueprints might illuminate some story behind those curling sheets
letters and words set foundations below the horizon
words beyond that blue sheaf mean nothing

and his blueprints illuminate a story behind those curling sheets
he hovers over runic lines of stairs rooms doors and windows
words beyond that blue sheaf mean nothing
he studies blueprints opened like sacred scrolls

Amare I

love is
the dream of snowflakes on a gun
melting to hate

gunmetal and snowflakes
water turns to rust
atwisted multiplication of elements

sometimes we sleep
through this allegory
and will not wake.

Lights

there were no sirens
when Mr. Skrypnik was taken
if I hadn't seen the lights
I never would have known

when Mr. Skrypnik was taken
it was cold and the middle of the night
I never would have known
but I couldn't sleep

it was cold and the middle of the night
John was dead to the world
but I couldn't sleep
what did I have to be afraid of?

John was dead to the world
our sidewalk well-fed with snow
what did I have to be afraid of?
that window: limoges a crystal lamp

our sidewalk well-fed with snow
on this street of rusted mailboxes
that window: limoges a crystal lamp
I watched as they lifted him in

on this street of rusted mailboxes
Mr. Skrypnik grew sweetpeas every summer
I watched as they lifted him in
every day he wore a shirt and tie

Mr. Skrypnik grew sweetpeas every summer
his house had those old windows with wood sills
every day he wore a shirt and tie
at Halloween he always left lights on

his house had those old windows with wood sills
I never would have known
at Halloween he always left lights on
there were no sirens

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Santa Rosa

Santa Rosa

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
tagged : literary
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