And the winner is…

…patience, patience, I’ll tell you in a minute.

This week has been draining at work. Suffice it to say that every day felt twelve hours long, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the kids, who enjoyed the sci-fi stories by Stanislaw Lem and Ray Bradbury that we read this week. (By the way, who knew that Jason Bateman was in a 1979 educational film version of Bradbury’s “The Veldt?” So cute…)

Since I was wiped out from work, I got NO writing done this week, but I did get into the city to the fantastic Wit Rabbit Reading Series to hear Regine Rosseau, Kimberly Dixon, and the fantastic Nina Corwin. Despite the horrid traffic getting down there, I enjoyed the reading and bought some books. I am looking forward to being a reader for that series in February of 2014.  I hope to work on submissions later tonight and tomorrow- I was planning on it last night, but 3 hours of grading got in the way.

“So enough of that, Donna – tell us who won the giveaway!” (Drum roll, please…)

Joseph Harker! Joseph, you’ll have to email me your mailing address, and your copy of A House of Many Windows will be on its way. I didn’t receive that many entries, probably because I picked a sonnet (not the favorite of many poets), but maybe because everyone else had a week like I did. Thanks to those of you who gave it a try. Of the sonnets I did receive, Joseph’s was my favorite.  I love the sounds in this poem – and the phrase “the glass and garbage ground” is such a winner. If you like this piece, be sure to visit Joseph over at Naming Constellations.

Last Night on the Fire Escape, Philadelphia, 2009

We spread our towels like altars on the snow,
remember, smoked our final cigarettes down
to their wet filters. What wayward children know
remains unwritten: the February night-light
seen from above, the glass-and-garbage ground.
We get our glory when we’re overthrown
by beauty, door propped open, world gone white.
We thieves wear old stories like crooked crowns
to show the kids. When winter comes, years later,
which secrets will you dig up for your daughter?
What mother can hide old wind and old water?
We used to be the weather’s best-loved traitors.
Wait for me: we’ll all climb back up together,
throw the portals wide, believing nothing better.
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2 thoughts on “And the winner is…

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