A Wolf Eating a Bird, and: June Anne, and: Ctvertek

A Wolf Eating a Bird, and: June Anne, and: Ctvertek David Keplinger A Wolf Eating a Bird Whatever sings belongs to no one and doesn't need to know where the Dardanelles are or what occurred at Vicksburg, or who was born on May the first two thousand two. But you are three today and riding in the little car, and holding up your broken arm at the glass edge of our driveway you're glancing back at us to wave goodbye. Along the ramparts of your world about to make a left turn or a right you are more lovely than an antique book of poetry inscribed from one best friend to another. Through the mouth of the gigantic purple cast you peek one waving finger: and we can only run, like crazy, after. June Anne June Anne lived on the side of the road, without any plumbing but an outhouse, which we called a poorhouse, on the dirt road to school, with someone inside looking out. 86 Her father, killed by a fire when the gas pump exploded. Her mother, embittered and thin. When June Anne was told, she fell down; she pumped her breath and got sick; her sick was watery thin. The problem of zero was http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

A Wolf Eating a Bird, and: June Anne, and: Ctvertek

Prairie Schooner, Volume 81 (2) – Aug 20, 2007

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2007 by the University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

David Keplinger A Wolf Eating a Bird Whatever sings belongs to no one and doesn't need to know where the Dardanelles are or what occurred at Vicksburg, or who was born on May the first two thousand two. But you are three today and riding in the little car, and holding up your broken arm at the glass edge of our driveway you're glancing back at us to wave goodbye. Along the ramparts of your world about to make a left turn or a right you are more lovely than an antique book of poetry inscribed from one best friend to another. Through the mouth of the gigantic purple cast you peek one waving finger: and we can only run, like crazy, after. June Anne June Anne lived on the side of the road, without any plumbing but an outhouse, which we called a poorhouse, on the dirt road to school, with someone inside looking out. 86 Her father, killed by a fire when the gas pump exploded. Her mother, embittered and thin. When June Anne was told, she fell down; she pumped her breath and got sick; her sick was watery thin. The problem of zero was

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Aug 20, 2007

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