Magazine June 12, 2017, Issue

Poetry

LAST BLOOMS

A vantage point for any pot

Of small, bronzed marigold

Is next to a bare, molting tree,

Where several pale green stems uphold

Odd milkweed pods that fill the spot –

They’re edible, I’m told.

As apples redden, I can see

Some purple asters, bold,

Merging with goldenrod. The lot

Springs out of tangled mold

To sing a muted symphony,

Which swells, as fronds unfold,

Revealing ancient ferny fans,

Hiding the withered also-rans.

To Read the Full Story

In This Issue

Articles

Features

Books, Arts & Manners

Sections

Letters

Letters

What Counts as Climate Consensus? Oren Cass’s article “Who’s the Denier Now?” (May 1) condemns the misuse of scientific data in climate-change policy debates, but to support his position Cass misrepresents ...
The Week

The Week

‐ Hostile congressmen vow to use any means available to block Trump’s outrageous budget plan. And the Democrats are pretty mad too. ‐ North Korea tested two missiles in a week, ...
Athwart

Foodie Feud

People of Portland: The Council of Making Every Damned Thing a Problem has come up with a list of restaurants to hate.
Poetry

Poetry

LAST BLOOMS A vantage point for any pot Of small, bronzed marigold Is next to a bare, molting tree, Where several pale green stems uphold Odd milkweed pods that fill the spot – They’re edible, I’m ...

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