LIKE THAT FIELD OF STARS IN THE FLAG

I’ve long pondered the question, “What does it mean to be American?” As a native of the Midwest, my perspectives were quite different from the friends I met and lived with the first time I moved east, the ones whose experience of the rest of the continent happened when flying to California from New York City. There’s a lot in between! You need to get your feet on the ground.

And then, in the desert of the Pacific Northwest, everything twisted. Little I’d known was familiar. Once I adjusted, I never wanted to leave. But then, everything blew up, along with Mount St. Helens.

By degrees, I edged eastward, finally landing in New England. As for answers to that ongoing question, let me point you to my latest book release, the poetry collection Noble Blue Liberty. All we need is a field of stars.

~*~

For these poems and more, visit Thistle/Flinch editions.

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