[vc_row row_height_percent=”50″ override_padding=”yes” h_padding=”2″ top_padding=”3″ bottom_padding=”3″ back_image=”56863″ back_position=”center top” overlay_alpha=”0″ gutter_size=”3″ shift_y=”0″][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ position_vertical=”bottom” style=”dark” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ zoom_width=”0″ zoom_height=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_custom_heading heading_semantic=”h1″ text_size=”fontsize-338686″ text_height=”fontheight-179065″ text_space=”fontspace-111509″ text_font=”font-762333″ text_weight=”700″ text_color=”color-xsdn” sub_reduced=”yes” subheading=”by Melissa Studdard”]When Will She Ever[/vc_custom_heading][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space empty_h=”2″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
Life arranged through appointments,
nightfall, small tasks. Not ocean
mind. Not blazon
brute or valor. Brooding only
the pen cap
from which the writing instrument
comes singing. Where? Small
misplaced, regular
object. Not adazzle
or dappled. Whimsical not
of honeysuckle or wild
maple praline syrup. Ink not
delivered via the mouth
of a tulip, a poem, a board
game chute. Just a few
computations, spreadsheets, i’s dotted,
small misplaced
grievings. Oh the mind, the mind
has mountains she will never climb.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_center” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space][vc_separator sep_color=”color-184322″ el_width=”30%”][vc_empty_space][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_right” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/3″][vc_single_image media=”59030″ media_width_percent=”100″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]Melissa Studdard is the author of the poetry collections I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast and Dear Selection Committee (forthcoming). Her writing has been featured by PBS, NPR, The New York Times, The Guardian, and more, and has won awards such as the Poetry Society of America’s Lucille Medwick Award.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][/vc_column][/vc_row]