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THIS DREAM THE WORLD: New & Selected Poems
NASTY WOMEN POETS: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse
THE OPEN HAND
A FIELD OF FOUNDLINGS: Selected Poems of Iryna Starovoyt
VOTIVES: Selected Poems from the Literary Remains
RECEIPT
Fugitives  
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  Danielle Pieratti

ISBN 978-0-9908193-7-0    $18     5.5 x 8.5"   64 pp   March 2016    Poetry





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 Winner of the Idaho Prize for Poetry 2015

 

Punctuated by avoidance, disguise, sheltering, and escape, the poems in Fugitives combine the magical and the mundane, shifting between dreams and domestic life while exploring the murky confines of marriage, motherhood, and girlhood. Ultimately they learn a kind of tentative security in a “strange, unyielding,” and deserved present, one in which “You are / safer than you thought. / You are almost / sleeping. And your body / is shaped like cloth and sounds / like a century.”

 Danielle Pieratti’s nuanced meditations create a world of inner and outer landscapes, inextricably bound. Her poems suffuse the ordinary—hay and mud and ice, horses and orchards, childhood and womanhood and parenthood—with a sensibility both acute and tender. I love the mood of this collection, its music and clarities and mysteries. Savor it slowly. “For the moment, nothing that is here / flies away.”

—Kim Addonizio

About the Author

Danielle Pieratti

Danielle Pieratti

Danielle Pieratti holds an MFA from Columbia University. She received The Paris Review’s Bernard F. Connors Prize for her collection of “Ginger” poems in 2004. Her poems have appeared in The Paris Review, Boston Review, Barn Owl Review, Rhino, and other journals. She is the author of two chapbooks: By the Dogstar, the 2005 winner of the Edda Chapbook Competition for Women, and The Post, the Cage, the Palisade, published by Dancing Girl Press in 2015. She currently teaches English in Connecticut, where she lives with her husband and two young children. Fugitives is her first full-length collection.

 

Hands

Freely about you, the felt flanks of ponies
nosing for apples in fall snow. Low stakes
for boys who throw rocks on dry roads.

Tunnels lived-in, really; mining fierce
trinkets in absolute crawl. Days full as kites,
you bike the dam hands-free.

Or, hands pine-nut-brown, run watercolor
wild. Brother George back from Berlin
with pieces of wall—one for each child.

—Danielle Pieratti