This poem is taken from Stand 219, 16(3) August - September 2018.
Four Poems
Infinitives
To admit fields are on fire, oil fields,
though we do not yet see them burning;
to remember our grandparents sweltered
each summer, waiting for the streetcar,
...
To admit fields are on fire, oil fields,
though we do not yet see them burning;
to remember our grandparents sweltered
each summer, waiting for the streetcar,
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us, including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us, including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
