Soil: Blowin’ In
Blowin’ In: Soil By Susan Mangan Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests . . . Under
Read moreBlowin’ In: Soil By Susan Mangan Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests . . . Under
Read moreBlowin’ In: Call of the Pipes By Susan Mangan “The bagpipes – they are screaming and they are sorrowful. There
Read moreBlowin’ in: Spring Swans By Susan Mangan “Nine- and-fifty swans . . . Scatter wheeling in great broken
Read moreBlowin’ In: Lucy in the Garden By Susan Mangan “Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies went down
Read moreBlowin’ In: An American in Ireland By Susan Mangan “Who will go with Fergus now . . . And dance
Read moreBlowin’ In: A Winter Night By Susan Mangan “Ah, yes! For we are gathered here to celebrate and explore the
Read moreBlowin’ In: Christmas Without Artifice By Susan Mangan “The newness that was in every stale thing When we looked at
Read moreBlowin’ In: At Table By Susan Mangan The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we
Read moreBlowin’ In: An American
Read moreBlowin’ In: Blackberry Season Begins By Susan Mangan Sunlight dips like foam atop an undulating tide across the rocky hills
Read moreBlowin’ In: Hidden Still By Susan Mangan “it is gone in a fling of wings off up beyond the ash-tree
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