In truth, I’m more impressed with the poetry in this issue (Vol. 30, No. 4) than in the short stories. I am certainly no expert at either writing or critiqueing poetry, but words and form such as this delight me:
Still, for a while the rain seemed
nothing. We lashed ourselves
to ourselves. We were a line. Un-
crossable. The line of us could walk
and weep and believe we were of use.(Up the Steps of the Capitol, Nance Van Winckel)
Simple, good imagery, powerful picture of hope and human caring.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology