We see the statistics on infant and child mortality before the advent of antibiotics and other medical advances, and we nod in understanding. But when the statistic is your own family, and it affects both those who experience it and those who come after it happened, you know that it is something more than a statistic.
In the 38 poems of her new collection The New Life, poet and writer Wendy Wisner speaks to that difference between statistic and family reality. She knows from her own family history that children can die; it happened to her grandmother’s sister on the boat when the family immigrated to America. It happened to her grandmother who lost a child during childbirth in the hospital. To a doctor or researcher, such events are statistics. To the people who experience it, it’s a tragedy that stays with them the rest of their lives.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Some Tuesday Readings
Body of Oceans – poem by David Whyte.
I heard a Fly buzz – poem by Emily Dickinson at The Imaginative Conservative.
Thin Starlight: Interview with Emily Jean Patterson – Tweetspeak Poetry.
P.S. – poem by Franz Wright at Every Day Poems.
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