WHIPSAW BY SUZANNE FRISCHKORN
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Suzanne Frischkorn writes with the grit and tenderness it takes for a woman to live and raise children in violent America. Peril is close at hand, but so too is the solace of forests and seasons. She gathers crystalline images, as after an ice storm, “the branches/sounded like the parting of bead curtains.” But the cut of helicopter blades follows close by. Hers is a terrible and beautiful balancing act. She takes inspiration from Alice Notley, Keith Richards, the Bard—and most profoundly Gaston Bachelard who leads her into “the great law of forest revery.” I treasure this book so rich in thought and feeling. — Alison Hawthorne Deming, author of A Woven World
Suzanne Frischkorn’s Whipsaw is an astonishing run through verdant and shattered forests, transcended one temporal dimension at a time. Everything we come to know, by breath and apparition, gives way to what we pull through it, make of it. Whether harp or clasp, song or quietude, dark horse or deer’s leap, social burdens attend condolences and we sure ourselves with understory every entry a new bound. A sensational and deeply intense read, a scatter of sunrays cut through bird song great. This one cuts to the core, delivering stunning reveal. Must read! — Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, author of Look at This Blue
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DEAR AMERICA
It’s time to teach my daughter how to shoot an arrow
How to use a knife
How to hit the center of a target
It’s bloody work, but she should know
It’s time to teach her how to win a debate
While applying lipstick without a mirror
And how to hold her keys between her fingers in a parking lot
It’s time for her to hit the weight room
Join the cross-country team
Cast a spell, literally and figuratively
And it’s time for her to develop telekinesis and clairvoyance
It’s time she knows to never leave her drink unattended
Never drink on an empty stomach
Never drink before her period
And maybe what I mean to say is—never drink alcohol period
It’s time to learn that one day she might switch grocery stores
because a guy on staff there gives her the creeps
And even if it’s less convenient to travel across town
It’s always best to trust her intuition
It’s time to teach her that when a grown man stares at her
New breasts, she is not the one who should feel ashamed
America, she’s her mother’s daughter
She’s got this
MUSEUM MILE, NYC
All the women wear summer dresses
& men play ping-pong in Bryant park.
Sun & sky in harmony.
We stroll & forget it’s all dire.
It’s the day the sex-trafficker pedophile
is found dead in his cell, perhaps that’s why
the city has all its outdoor umbrellas up
& everyone dines outside.
Beauty so bright I wear sunglasses. I wrap
my denim jacket around my waist
& leave my own prison—no service.
All I can do is let sun kiss my skin
& believe every day
on the Upper East Side must be this fine.
Later, when I see a dog sitting across his owner
on the train, I smile. Because who wouldn’t?