By Anita Tanner The teacher-cop with chalk directs traffic for sentence diagramming while we speed nouns and verbs between white lines to park in place on black asphalt, a few clauses or phrases second-storied up on tripod stilts we slash across the board, spots for words like stalled autos in a parking lot …
Tag: Anita Tanner
Poem: Painting
By Anita Tanner My daughter says the best gift for Christmas was painting four daughters’ nails— not figures frescoed on massive walls or pastoral scenes sketched on canvas but eighty ovals brushed brilliant, cotton balls scrunched between toes— and, oh, the talk while waiting. After mom’s funeral, nothing more we can do, our eyes …