SUSAN ANDREWS GRACE
water is the first world
purled the stitch of tomorrow
lilacs sick with longing
Flesh, a naked dress— tissues sewn with bloody threads
pain splints pleasure
the outfielder dreams, her glove empty
summergrounds ° a slide into home
evenings thick with alfalfa ° clover at the back step
the philosopher as a small girl presses her forehead to eternity
SUSAN ANDREWS GRACE
Hypatia had worth, auditors, and her own name—