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Liz Abrams Morley staple-bound. 28 pp. $8.00 
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This is Liz Abrams Morley's fourth book of poetry, the first with Plan B Press. She spins poems of family and nature and reflects on moments of beauty and vitality of minute details. All of these poems commemorate everyone and everything that has lived, died, and lives on in Abrams-Morley's life and poetry. Read them and feast upon the extraordinary, natural beauty which is "What Winter Reveals."
Rosemary Cappello Liz Abrams-Morley is the author of the full-length poetry collection, Learning to Calculate the Half Lifea chapbook, Memory Waltz, and, with the artist Meg Kennedy, two limited edition artist's books, The Bird Book and My Cape Cod. Her poems and stories have appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies. A co-founder of Around the Block Writers Collaborative, an on-line writing workshop and collective, (www.writearoundtheblock.org), Liz works as an artist-in-residence in schools and community centers throughout Pennsylvania. from Nine Snapshots v I would let myself be led to the creek only by scent, be brought step by step in whatever direction the sound of water over rocks grows most clear, but six in the morning, the phone saws through after the lullaby of bird song and the rhythm of the lemon blossom and orange blossom plays in my almost waking dream. Two fruit trees planted along side the driveway, everyone ignores each time they pass by. Look, you say to me when you arrive vi and I've been here two whole days and have grown almost used to seeing their fruit though we have come each of us in our time such a long way, from the opposite side of this continent to a place where fat lemons hang on slim branches and are left to rot there and this is the very first thing you say when you open the car door and step from the scentlessness of air conditioning into dry California landscape. Look! Real lemons! My sister looks up from her laptop, knits her brows into a vee and says "Oh yeah. I forgot we had those." Now back in the humid gray of just before east coast thunderstorm, the impatiens wilt and I'm wondering how much we all forget we have. |