poem index


Kate Knapp Johnson

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by this poet

It is the summer bears ruled, the last summer 
of pure breathlessness
when I moved unaware, taken in 
by the netted branches of raspberries, held 
in trance by the sweet air
of the orchards. My grandfather 
died at home one night in early July
as expected, and the white clouds drifted like snow 
on the face of