Sue Ellen Kuzma

Just after we’ve communally stuffed and thanked,the first sleet comes down in shanksof dirty lambs’ wool, rude messy sheets,slathering the cars we hunch in, hurrying...

Somewhere in the sacred opera,in a sea of men, the little voice,        fearless in the face...

“It did what I wanted it to do,”said my sister of the carefully composedlittle book of old family photographsshe’d arranged with sheer vellum slipsbetween the pages,...