Thursday, June 18, 2015


Reading Late 
Jesse Graves 


We walked between the ponds at World’s Fair Park
the first night we knew something definite had hold of us,

conversations reaching not much beyond favorite bands,
least favorite jobs. We had not held hands.

Nothing existed of our daughter, not yet a nameless dream,
or the years we chased snakes out of the baseboards

in the house by Sapsucker Woods, driving home late
to find deer on their hind legs foraging our bird feeders.

This book we write together keeps me turning pages
deep into the night, re-reading the chapters on eloping

to Charlottesville, eating boiled crawfish at Mardi Gras.
Tension rises through pages about devotion and doubt,

as the main characters grow steadily beyond our grasp,
suspended from the hidden strings of this love story

that opens in such a beautiful setting, develops with so much
indirection and suspense, I can’t stand to put it down.




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