- By Emily Wojcik
Stopping to catch my breath on a switchback,
I run my fingers along the leaves of a yucca:
each blade curved, sharp, radiating from a core —
in this warmest of Novembers, the dead
push out of thawing permafrost: in a huge
blotch of black ink that now hangs, framed. . .
—from “Ravine,” from Volume 59, Issue 4 (Winter 2018)
Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
One of my earliest poems was titled “Li Po.” In the Tang dynasty, Li Po supposedly reached over the side of a boat to embrace the reflection of the full moon on the water and fell in and drowned. The poem I wrote, like many ancient Chinese poems, has no “I” in the poem: it was about being out...