Wideawake Field

The chairs have come in
and the crisp yellow thwock
of the ball being hit
says somehow, now that it''s fall,
I''m a memory of myself.
My whole old life—
I mourn you sometimes
in places you would have been.
—October

The poems in this fierce debut are an attempt to record what matters. As a reporter''s dispatches, they concern themselves with different forms of deso...