Vital Signs

Joyce Brown’s poems  take a remarkably fresh look at things we see (or perhaps, miss) every day, and they breathe a life into them that transforms them into experiences, lessons even that stay with us. In “Trip Home,” she writes: The death I’ve planned,/put up like a jar of peach preserves,/comes late in life, in bed, my dogs at hand,/the basement finally waterproofed/and clean/my piano tuned. I grieve,/but reach for God, and face the music/which is always Brahms.” The reader  is treated to thoughtfulness and craft like that throughout this book.