Great Regulars: We're in the bleak time of year,

holidays over, spring a long way off. Sometimes everything feels that way, suspended in sadness, waiting. The thought of waiting made me remember this poem by a friend, Margot Schlipp, who, like me, has published several books from Carnegie Mellon University Press.

from Fleda Brown: Traverse City Record-Eagle: On Poetry: Poetry in bleak midwinter

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