In Rebecca Brock's chapbook, Each Bearing Out, children ask questions of time that none of us can answer. Here, the poet articulates every mother's fear: what will be lost in my hands, what will refuse to be carried? The love we harbor often moves us from one night to the next, one feeding to another. In the chaos of ever-turning days, Brock extends herself and those in arm's reach grace, remembering "I was learning/ there were terrible...
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Poetry