The Length of a Clenched Fist

At monthly open mic readings over the past few years I've come to appreciate and look forward to LA Felleman's poems their conversational whimsy their confident understatedness. Now you too can encounter these poems that fade to a fragile pale glint. In writing that spans the first eight months of the pandemic and quarantine Felleman shares a generous range of interests concerns and sympathies-from Amazonian vampire bats to white privilege from her landlord to Sei Sh?nagon's The Pillow Book from the derecho to sandhill cranes. You'll discover poems that have the crisp chiseled feel of prayers addressing our faith doubt grace and grief that ponder how the world might be if only I had more.-David Duer. LA Felleman's The Length of a Clenched Fist lives in the only habitable places of the early pandemic: crowded grocery stores bird cam livestreams wetland trails borrowed homes and memories of the Before Times. Instead of trying to keep pace with a year of global health crises social uprisings and natural disasters these poems fall into step with rhythms of the domestic and natural worlds the grounding repetitive acts of sweeping floorboards and listening to the calls of sandhill cranes. Under Felleman's meditative gaze poetry becomes a practice too: she observes the seemingly circumscribed world so closely that it begins to shimmer and swell spilling out over the edges of quarantined life.-Becca Klaver