Poetry. I drag the machine by its serpentine nose, / and it churns its belly into a hungry nothing, / all gullet, sucking at the lips of paradise, / emptying noise and silence into its hollow whine. (Vacuuming). Whether its piano practice, window washing, or a game of jacks, Jeanne Emmons brings to her domestic poems a rich lyric awareness and a wise if wistful acceptance of human limitations. Maxine Kumin.
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