Poetry from Pat Daneman
She is made out of rain now.
We can put our hands right through her.
She is wailing and sleeplessness
and unwashed hair. Some days she rises
to take an orange from the table,
and we hope she will let us lead her
into air, return her a limb
at a time to breath and bone.
She swallows without eating, answers
without words. Never has she had to live
among so many flowers, so much
whispering among roots.
Pat Daneman’s recent poetry appears in The Atlanta Review, Freshwater, Bryant Literary Review, and Typehouse. Her collection, After All (FutureCycle Press 2018), was first runner-up for the 2019 Thorpe-Menn Award and finalist for the Hefner Heitz Kansas Book Award. She is author of a chapbook, Where the World Begins. For more, visit patdaneman.com.
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