Come-Hither Honeycomb. Erin Belieu

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Note to the Reader

      Copper Canyon Press encourages you to calibrate your settings by using the line of characters below, which optimizes the line length and character size:

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Pellentesque euismod magna

       ac diam

      Please take the time to adjust the size of the text on your viewer so that the line of characters above appears on one line, if possible.

      When this text appears on one line on your device, the resulting settings will most accurately reproduce the layout of the text on the page and the line length intended by the author. Viewing the title at a higher than optimal text size or on a device too small to accommodate the lines in the text will cause the reading experience to be altered considerably; single lines of some poems will be displayed as multiple lines of text. If this occurs, the turn of the line will be marked with a shallow indent.

      Thank you. We hope you enjoy these poems.

      This e-book edition was created through a special grant provided by the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation.

      Contents

       Title Page

       Note to Reader

       Instructions for the Hostage

       Loser Bait

       Pity the Doctor, Not the Disease

       In Airports

       Your Failure

       When I Am a Teenage Boy

       Hypotenuse

       The Man Who Fills In Space

       Dum Spiro Spero

       Sundays

       Please Forgive Me All That I Have Ruined—

       In Which a Therapist Asks for the Gargoyle Who Sits on My Chest

       As for the Heart

       She Returns to the Water

       A Few Notes about the Poems

       About the Author

       Also by Erin Belieu

       Acknowledgments

       Copyright

       Special Thanks

      Always, for Jude

      She notices something then that has caught on her sleeve. It is the tiniest of feathers, hardly more than a wisp of down. She detaches it carefully, meaning to inspect it more closely, but it is so slight that she cannot keep hold of it. She sees it only for an instant before the wind takes it, a thread of brightness that shivers from her fingertips and is gone.

      from Paraic O’Donnell’s The Maker of Swans

      come-hither

      honeycomb