Into The Early Hours clearly documents Aislinn Hunter as a gifted master poet whose verse is unique, engaging, and memorable. Recollection: The slim-wristed dead are with you again,/in their ruffled blouses and long white skirts --/two young girls, feet slung out of the hammock/on Chatham street, sleeping and as still as fish/too long out of water, mouths open/under a bright canopy of sun. It's late summer/and every afternoon has been like this one//but for your hand on the banister of the back porch,/as incongruous as an airplane in an apple grove./That you can touch her shoulder and wake her,/along with her sister and the small brown terrier/curled up in the shade. That the oak tree's leaves/feather your neck as you stand beside them.//She wakes up slowly and enters the house/as it if still existed, and the two of them/climb kitchen chairs and pick through the pantry/for snacks. Spread jam on bread then dip their fingers/in the jar. How young they are now,/and how forgotten. Her memories at work in you,/smell of the countryside when you wake.
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