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By Robyn Schiff

A new e-book from a poet whose paintings is "wild with mind's eye, unafraid, formidable, inventive" (Jorie Graham)

Located in a menacing, gothic panorama, the poems that contain A lady of Property draw formal and inventive barriers opposed to boundless mortal possibility, yet as all borders are susceptible, this ominous assortment eventually levels an pressing and deeply imperiled boundary dispute the place haunting, phantasm, the presence of the prior, and disembodied voices in basic terms extra unsettle questions of fabric and non secular ownership. this can be a theatrical ebook of dilapidated homes and overgrown gardens, of passageways and thresholds, edges, prosceniums, unearthings, and root structures. The volatile estate strains right here rove from heaven to hell, troubling share and provoking propriety within the identify of unfathomable propagation. Are the entire gates during this publication folly? Are the partitions too simply scaled to carry whatever again or impose self-confinement? What won't a poem do to get to the opposite facet?

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Sample text

Inching a bit closer to the door, she kept her eyes on his hands. Those would tell her his next move. She’d become an expert at reading Jesse through his hands. The second they clenched she’d known she was in trouble. This man’s hands were sitting idly at his hips, just sort of hanging there. “Can I please sit down with you for a few minutes of your time? ” His voice, she was sure, was supposed to convey trustworthiness. That made her more suspicious. “Sorry. ” She took her chances and darted through the door, not looking back as she made her way to her locker.

By the time he was done, she’d want to die. There was no going back now. There was no need to. She had everything she needed in this little car, her escape a couple of days early, but well planned out. Pulling onto the street, she sped away, breathing heavy as she traveled through Billings, Montana. If he called her car in… If he somehow caught up to her… If… No. She wouldn’t think that way. She’d gotten away. She would stay away. He didn’t know which way she was going — he had no way of finding her.

She needed to keep going. When she stepped back outside, a police cruiser circled by, and her eyes met the officer’s. Terror seized her heart, but she knew it didn’t show in her face. She was prepared for this, and she knew that cops looked for signs of guilt. If she didn’t give this one a reason to talk to her, he would pass on by. Walking with confidence, or what she hoped looked like confidence, she opened her car door casually and slid into the driver’s seat, taking her time situating her food and drink and buckling her seat belt.

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