Grit
On a Washington Heights corner in the panting swelter,
I learned that grit was not hominy, or teeth, but proud
squalor.
I learned that grit was not hominy, or teeth, but proud
squalor.
Don Share
Poetry
Lullaby of the Onion (Translator)
The onion is frost
shut in and poor.
Frost of your days
Daily
Two Poems: 'The Crew Change' and 'Rice in the Spoon'
These poems by Don Share bring surprising music and thrilling turns of mind to the matter of everyday life. We especially liked the eerie litany of woebegone objects in “Rice in the Spoon”: “Sea glass beached / on a porch bench” or, better …