Volume 10 (Fall 2015)

Sandra Marchetti


          with a line from Sylvia Plath

So shot with stalks

I can't see the garden

claimed from rock.

I will not press flesh

to grass, ruffled

thick to green, sleep

a finch feathered

through each fist.

My foot slips—

I'm china, discarded

under moonbeam.

I limb the path, black;

across the rim,

the petals of a rose

close at the edge.

Sandra Marchetti is the author of Confluence, a debut full-length collection of poetry from Sundress Publications. (Read a review of Confluence in this issue of Mead.) She is also a co-author of Heart Radicals, a forthcoming chapbook of love poems. Eating Dog Press published an illustrated letterpress edition of her essays and poetry, A Detail in the Landscape, and her first volume, The Canopy, won Midwest Writing Center's Mississippi Valley Chapbook Contest. Sandy's work appears in The Hollins Critic, Sugar House Review, Subtropics, Ecotone, Green Mountains Review, Blackbird, Southwest Review, and elsewhere. She teaches Interdisciplinary Studies at Aurora University, outside of her hometown of Chicago.

On Libations: I love Belgian quads. Probably my favorite is Ommegang's Three Philosophers, or Trappistes Rochefort 10. They are mysterious as a blue hour fading into night, and a bit sweet but raisiny. A quad is not quite hard liquor, but strong enough to knock the car keys out of your hand—just about perfect.