Prick of the Spindle, in The Poetry Cheerleader column, a very short review of The Body is a Little Gilded Cage, by Kristina Marie Darling, which has this fabulous cover. (I want that mesh heart purse.) (But I don't want to put anything in it.)
As the subtitle says, it is "a story in fragments & letters," and it's H.D.'s story, Hilda Doolittle, a contemporary of Ezra Pound, labeled H. D., Imagiste by him.
Meanwhile, in garden, the lupine and balsam planted from seed this season are coming up, thanks to a blessed rain and days of glorious sun. To use the pathetic fallacy, the pinks and spiderwort seem very happy. And the day lilies, previously stunted, have stretched their elegant necks. I'm sure they'll open orange as ever.
Accidental Critic: “I thought I made you up!”
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