• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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readings & workshops
November 21

Offsite Talk: Native American Identity & the Politics of the Poetic Image 

readings & workshops
December 3

Ultimate Truth Poetry Reading and Book Release

readings & workshops
December 6

Heddy Keith author of Through it All

readings & workshops
December 9

Poetry Reading: Tonya M. Foster & Samiya Bashir

performances
December 10

Alternating Currents Live presents Nicole Mitchell Quartet

special events
January 27 -28

24th Annual Poetry Marathon & Benefit

Anne Shaw

Anne Shaw is the author of two poetry collections:Dido in Winter, (Persea, 2014), and Undertow(Persea, 2007), winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky Poetry Prize. Her poems and reviews have appeared in journals including Harvard Review, Black Warrior Review, Denver Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, The Kenyon Review, and New American Writing. She currently lives in Chicago, where she studies sculpture at the School of the Art Institute. Her work can be found online at www.anneshaw.org.

Selected Poems

Invitation

Anne Shaw

           Voices drift across the lawn
and form in the shape of clovers. A slight breeze
           bezels the fishpond, lens
                  of grainy light, black

           cord covered with electric tape. Kneel
on the concrete. Tile, sedge.

                                    Koi ghost out
                        to meet you, blunt-
                                           edged hunger curving
                                     blindly up.

Take this bract that rises and subsides.

                          Butterscotch or red and white,
                                                      their bodies slick
                                       as sorrow, lathered
                             with the cold, unseemly weed.

           Elsewhere, there's a party.
   Clink of glasses, square of kitchen light.

                         Elsewhere, a pair of pliers
             spreads
                           its implicate beak.
                                                          A hooded sweatshirt
                    gestures from the bottom of a lake.

Here, put these on. You're going to need
             the leather gloves I tossed off in the shed.

Speech is just an instrument to register
the night. I offer

                   you no hook, no tool,
                   nothing to make fast

no metal implement with which to cut or mend.