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poet

Jennifer Militello

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Jennifer Militello

Jennifer Militello was born in New York City and grew up in Rhode Island. She earned her BA at the University of New Hampshire, where she studied with Charles Simic, and her MFA at the University of North Carolina, Greensboro. She is the author of A Camouflage of Specimens (Tupelo Press, 2016), Body Thesaurus (Tupelo Press, 2013), and Flinch of Song (Tupelo Press, 2009), winner of the Tupelo Press First Book Award.

In her review of Body Thesaurus, Cate Marvin writes, “In the face of supreme, and therefore extreme, quietude (‘The mouth of me is bitten off’), Jennifer Militello’s poems hand us over to that other life we nightly receive in dream, a dimension at once seamless and yet so strange.”

Militello is the recipient of grants and fellowships from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, Millay Colony for the Arts, New Hampshire State Council on the Arts, and Writers at Work, as well as the 49th Parallel Award from Bellingham Review and the Ruskin Art Club Poetry Award from Red Hen Press, among others.

She teaches in the MFA program at New England College and lives in Goffstown, New Hampshire.


Bibliography

A Camouflage of Specimens (Tupelo Press, 2016)
Body Thesaurus (Tupelo Press, 2013)
Flinch of Song (Tupelo Press, 2009)

by this poet

poem

It’s easier to computer than to crash. It’s easier
to computer than to hold a hand or knit
a winter together from headlights on the highway.

It’s easier to computer and be a hybrid and
cross from bowels and eardrums into hours
lit and roaring by like freight. The chapters

there can

poem

Hatred is the new love. Rage is right. Touch
is touch. The collars of the coat, turned down,
point up. The corners of our hearts are smoothed
with rough. Our glass breaks slick, our teeth
rip soft. The mollusk of me, shell-less.
If the future once was, the past predicted
us. The street

poem

Once you were a god I could feel
enter the house from my room.
Once I knew to shut the door
when you returned. Once my muscles
tensed in anticipation of the moment
you came and rained your anger
down; my sister and I cringed.
We’d hear the car pull in, snap
the television off