Forty short poems about the last winter of the poet’s mother: hospital corridors, a radio left on, pears ripening on a sill.
Brenner never reaches for a big image when a small one will do. I read it in one sitting, then again with a pencil.
Forty short poems about the last winter of the poet’s mother: hospital corridors, a radio left on, pears ripening on a sill.
Brenner never reaches for a big image when a small one will do. I read it in one sitting, then again with a pencil.