Abstract
Poems by Nancy Sather Hillghosts There is a certain place in the sky where hills should be. Kinesthetic, it travels with us as we go a moving rim, a self-defining bowl. Miles away in winter fog where hoarfrost paints the trees today I raise my eyes beyond the grey and at that certain point where office buildings loom like sentinels, masked in neutral tint the hillghosts bloom. February The lank cow, her breath thin on winter air her bare ribs, mere inches of milk in the bucket her lot bordered by coal pile and shed black hill and sky above raw-umber clay below frost on the tin roof ice in the washpan, silent red glow in the narrow grate at night, a banked fire. Images kept banked inside contingencies for a cold world. 68 ...
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