In light of the Coronavirus crisis, please join Poetry Daily for an impromptu series, What Keeps Us For the rest of March we will post poems to sustain and uplift through trying times. We thank you for reading and hope that you will share poems with your friends and neighbors. Please be well.
Donald Revell
The story of my life is untrue but not
Thanksgiving Day when the bee fell in the bottle.
All days take instruction from accident.
My wife opened the red wine in a good spot
We found as we were hiking along a dry
Creek bed. She filled our cups as I cut
Bread and apples. We saw the bee dive
Into the green bottleneck and start
To swim. Then we spoke about children and ways to move
An old piano north to where our nephews live.
We finished the wine, and the bee was still alive.
I tapped him onto the ground, and he walked off
Untangling antennae from wings and wine.
We hurried to reach the car while there was still daylight. 
from the book MY MOJAVE / Alice James Books
READ ABOUT TODAY'S POEM
Share Share
Tweet Tweet
Forward Forward
Drawing of smiling person washing their hands for 20 seconds!
Poetry Daily is Thinking of You

Please join us in April for Poetry Daily's first virtual book fair.  We are featuring new releases from thirty poets and thirty presses. Find new books, read poets’ insights into their own work, and discover publishers' upcoming highlights.
Photograph of Carolyn Forche, 1977
Carolyn Forché: A Retrospective

"Her poems ask again and again, What can we do with what we see and live through? They help us to consider our memories of Auschwitz or an image of immigrants drowned in the Rio Grande. In our deeply bifurcated world, Forché’s best writing engages in a kind of dialectic, one in which the truth of experience burns as brightly as the author’s intuition and imagination."
 
via THE NEW YORKER
READ ALL TODAY'S HEADLINES
Kaveh Akbar's translation into Farsi of three lines from francine j. harris' "katherine with the lazy eye. short. and not a good poet."

"When I found harris's poem, I saw myself, I saw the midwest I knew, I saw my own disregard for the interiority of others, I saw my own sloppiness. It’s a poem that performs its own searching, too—you hear the speaker reworking their language, endlessly reprocessing their positions and complicities."

READ TODAY'S ISSUE
You have received this email because you submitted your email address at www.poems.com
If you would like to unsubscribe please click here.

© 2020 Poetry Daily, Poetry Daily, MS 3E4, 4400 University Dr., Fairfax, VA 22030

Design by the Binding Agency