where the writers are

Catherine Staples's Writings

Poem
Mar.25.2010
Michigan Quarterly Review Vol. XLV, no.4, Fall 2006
No lush beauty, just a sloe gindark bay like pine bark in rain, all angle and ridge. One long look—and I break like a thief through the maze of their legs, past tweed skirts and trousersinto the musk closeness of strangers,slipping sideways through the gapin the storm fence, slipped away and close now to the smooth glossoh, quick knots like fast watergo shoulder...
Poem
Mar.25.2010
Willow Springs 46 June 20000
Lilly pads so still they seemed anchored in mud. A fine scree of algae on the water’s taut brim. Heat. Rain that would not or could not break. Then it broke—in colander drills and fine spitting screws. Frogs’ elastic leaps. The pond shudderedinto life after decades of sleep. And in the palace, kitchen maids surfaced midst peelings. Strange imprints on arms and...
Poem
Mar.25.2010
The Recorder, Volume 15, No. 2, Fall 2002
Bright as it could be past March—the boggy thatch that could sinka pastern gone firm as a spread palm and blindingly green—you rarely lost track of the dark in Clark's field, not with all that border oak and fir.Somewhere up there our postman’s father did himself in. In which of the four fields we never knew though the morning shot—we must have heard it while...
Poem
journal_prairieSchoonerWinter2008.jpg
Mar.24.2010
Prairie Schooner, Winter 2008
            The painter who wanders your house night and day,sketches his way in and out your back door,kitchen, barn, and milking room, he's erased all traceof you. Look, even your favorite tea cup, the onethat's snug to the curl of your forefinger, even that's gonebleached white as bones, something a dream tossed back.The print has...
Poem
journal_prairieSchoonerWinter2008.jpg
Mar.24.2010
Prairie Schooner - Winter2008
              A widow's walk will go your head like the sight of a formerboyfriend pulling up in a two-toned Alpha-sunglassesand a baseball cap, he patiently waits while you study his face.Recent history you can't know, but might intuit, beaten upsome by previous inhabitants, still you remember.Twenty years or more, the patina's...