Andrew Robin
—
Pears In Winter
Pears, as if floating, daubed like goldleaf against a heavy snow.
~
And deer, come red and chestdeep through the drifts to sniff
and bare their soft white throats.
~
(Who painted this kept a pack of docile wolves in the
evenings of their heart.)
~
Hoofprints, startled: and then launched into flawless leaps over
the earth.
~
Pears, faintly swinging, with little crescent moons bitten out.
Andrew Robin is the author of the poetry collections something has to happen next (University of Iowa Press), good beast (Burnside Review Books), Stray Birds (Kelson Books), and a recent chapbook, Small Pale Telegrams From The World (Sixth Finch Books). Recognitions include the Iowa Poetry Prize, a Poetry Society of America National Chapbook Award, and a Distinguished Teaching Award from the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Andrew lives with his wife Sarah on Lopez Island, where he works as an RN and volunteers as an EMT.
* Poems are intended to be read on larger screens. Mobile and narrow browser windows break the original format of pieces with longer line lengths
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