I read Steve Gehrke’s two wonderful poems [“Epilogue” and “The New Self,” July/August 2012] stretched out on my bed with the ceiling fan churning and—through his Sylvia Plath-like devotion to sound and sadness—forgot how goddamn hot North Carolina is in the summer when there are no jobs, anywhere, to distract you from it. Wonderful stuff. I’d love to see more of his poetry in your pages.
Letter to the Editor
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This prose originally appeared in the September 2012 issue of Poetry magazine