Lee Haas Norris has worked on an archaeological dig in Romania with a bunch of college students who boycotted cabbage and soup of all kinds, prepared students for maturita in English at a Czech gymnazium, and served in the United States Peace Corps in Moldova. She has performed in the Portland Christmas Revels for seven years, plays the recorder with fellow early-music lovers, and has WWOOFed in Ireland with her husband. You can find her work in The Gettysburg Review, Persimmon Tree, and VoiceCatcher.
All work
More from The Journal
- Poetry
By Henry Walters
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./
In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/
mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/
alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
- Poetry
By Ksenia Rychtycka
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, /
measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. /
Never mind that Mother left this earth /
eighteen months earlier...
- Poetry
By Rimas Uzgiris
The trolley bus won’t go. /
Its reins have fallen from the wires.
- Poetry
By Maryann Corbett
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/
in several African tongues, so far beyond me/
they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
- Poetry
By Pui Ying Wong
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/
are going by in the sturdy fog...
- Poetry
By R L Swihart
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/
with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./
Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/
not there to answer
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