000			04117nam a22004573i 4500
001			EBC5601825
003			MiAaPQ
005			20240724113449.0
006			m o d |
007			cr cnu||||||||
008			240724s2018 xx o ||||0 eng d
020			_a9780809336845 _q(electronic bk.)
020			_z9780809336838
035			_a(MiAaPQ)EBC5601825
035			_a(Au-PeEL)EBL5601825
035			_a(CaPaEBR)ebr11639000
035			_a(OCoLC)1066742281
040			_aMiAaPQ _beng _erda _epn _cMiAaPQ _dMiAaPQ
050		4	_aPS3602
082	0		_a811/.6
100	1		_aBerlin, Monica.
245	1	0	_aNostalgia for a World Where We Can Live.
250			_a1st ed.
264		1	_aCarbondale : _bSouthern Illinois University Press, _c2018.
264		4	_c©2018.
300			_a1 online resource (89 pages)
336			_atext _btxt _2rdacontent
337			_acomputer _bc _2rdamedia
338			_aonline resource _bcr _2rdacarrier
490	1		_aCrab Orchard Series in Poetry Series
505	0		_aCover Page -- Title Page -- Copyright Page -- Dedication -- Contents -- Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live -- What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much -- No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were -- Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son -- On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, -- When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking -- The dark flurry of another morning purred -- This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can -- Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable -- Sometimes being here is like -- To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so cluttered -- Just before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small -- We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, -- Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted -- Some disasters are given names, others called after -- The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded -- By rote the body learns nearly everything, after -- It's true. There are places we'd rather be -- Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, -- How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mine -- Because you're still in another time zone disparate things -- The problem is the revolving door, this -- Because I wasn't thinking peninsula -- If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more -- Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night -- A kind of stutter, that over and -- Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door -- Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter -- Back to this wind, up against it even, -- The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this -- When morning was almost unrecognizable as morning.
505	8		_aWhat the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even -- The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry -- At the new year, in the dark, I watched time -- The lesson tonight nothing less than -- In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass -- How quickly the body, when asked, forgets -- Stay mouthed through -- How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future -- If all the love we'll know is the kind of love -- Because all day the sky held back -- Not only the night -- Notes -- Acknowledgments -- Back Cover.
588			_aDescription based on publisher supplied metadata and other sources.
590			_aElectronic reproduction. Ann Arbor, Michigan : ProQuest Ebook Central, 2024. Available via World Wide Web. Access may be limited to ProQuest Ebook Central affiliated libraries.
650		0	_aAmerican poetry.
655		4	_aElectronic books.
776	0	8	_iPrint version: _aBerlin, Monica _tNostalgia for a World Where We Can Live _dCarbondale : Southern Illinois University Press,c2018 _z9780809336838
797	2		_aProQuest (Firm)
830		0	_aCrab Orchard Series in Poetry Series
856	4	0	_uhttps://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/orpp/detail.action?docID=5601825 _zClick to View
999			_c6679 _d6679