PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
Mark FordLetters And So It Goes
Letters from Young Mr Grace
(aka John Ashbery)

(PN Review 239)
Kei Millerthe Fat Black Woman
In Praise of the Fat Black Woman & Volume

(PN Review 241)
Henry Kingon Toby Martinez de las Rivas
(PN Review 244)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Next Issue Jen Schmitt on Ekphrasis Rachel Hadas on Text and Pandemic Kirsty Gunn Essaying two Jee Leong Koh Palinodes in the Voice of my Dead Father Maureen Mclane Correspondent Breeze
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review Blog

This poem is taken from PN Review 252, Volume 46 Number 4, March - April 2020.

Three Poems Leeanne Quinn

Winter fills my lungs with smoke,
I breathe in the new year
in this old house. Winter of locked doors,

empty rooms, winter of ill winds,
thrashing rains. Winter,
was I always this afraid?

Smoke billows from the bonnet,
I think ‘house’ not ‘car.’
I think beautiful bonfire. I think

your blood into flames, your charts
into char. I think with your precision.
O how we both know precisely

more than the other now – you,
how to go, me, how to go without.
Yet, here you are

asking from across another winter’s

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image