About the book
Playful but never glib, MacLeod's work is emotional at the core, infused with a subtle political awareness. The long, final poem is an elegy to an upstairs neighbour. Conflicted but ultimately moving, it is a testament to the often-overlooked ways people's lives get rubbed together.
About the author
from Mood Swing, with PearA pear that wasn’t eaten—
gone soft in the bowl.
I take it away and grief
surprises me. A gift so lovely
not accepted. The skin a mild yellow,
the stem curved and woody, still
bearing the weight.
how the upper slopes
spread out to the larger
& about snowmen, when they melt, head first,
on bright, mild days,
like long green pears
or self-possessed like this one:
not from the tropics but smelling of meadows, of summer
a few orchards over,
a softly freckled boy
from across the fields.
This pear I didn’t eat—now I look
closely—has tiny black dots
five o’clock shadow on
a man I may have
waltzed with in a bar or
on a kitchen floor
like this one, which I waltzed across
on my own just now when I was innocent
of the first pale bruises forming
in the fruit bowl,
scooting along in my purple socks
at bedtime, anticipating
coffee in the grainy