Wendy Mnookin

"The poems understand how delight must commingle with heartbreak, and they proceed with a terseness and associative vigor that makes the familiar strange--not for the sake of the easy tour de force, but as a means to arrive at the clarity and hard-won wisdom which these poems strive for and beautifully attain."
--David Wojahn

"THE MOON MAKES ITS OWN PLEA gives us poems beautifully nuanced, reflecting life in all its ironies and mysteries, poignantly aware of the brevity that makes each moment vivid and crucial."
--Betsy Sholl

All those different conversations,
and white lilacs, that first
summer riot. Then watermelon.
No one would listen.
Confusion grew.
Children wandered off
into complicated games
with ropes and knots.
This or that husband found his way
to someone new. Likewise the wives.
Day crumbled into its own kind of ruin.
I tried to get everything settled.
Should, the first-born, fought
in all its clamorous splendor
for top-billing, but eventually had to admit
others grow up, too. Somewhere
a well digger found water.
Bread in the ovens gave off its fragrant peace.
Abashed, should assumed its place
in the list of what could
be accomplished, what couldn't.