Do Not Peel the Birches

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Purdue University Press


In her second collection of poems, Fleda Brown Jackson holds with a meditative rapture to the place she call home-home as family, the source of trouble and joy; home as the embellished stories of family; and home as a place called Central Lake. And when the poems move outward-to Stonehenge, Edinburgh, Kitty-Hawk, Roanoke, St. Pete Beach, and the Mississippi River-the past keeps resonating. At last, the voice that remembers becomes "nothing but a riding, a hunger." "If I were a swan," she imagines, "The world would move / under me / and I would always be exactly / where I am."