[Janice D. Soderling]

When I finished reading this the first time, my mouth opened and said, "Oh-h-h-h" without any help from me.

The second time, it gave out a great, huge sigh.

"coat buttoned up as tight as grief", "Strict winds sand my face", "stone-faced as Colosseum arches" Those are phrases to make you sit shaking your noggin until it falls off.

I am dumbstruck by the part that stands alone in the beginning like a mournful cry—"I'm six, awash…", then sweeps me into the continuation of the poem like the incoming tide.

I am glad I am not so smart that I see what is wrong with enjambments and other craft technicalities. This one gives me goose bumps and wets my eyes. What more can a poet ask for?