Lori Brack

The rind flat on the pavement is by chance a circle—whole but empty where she shimmied out of her skin-tight skin. Around the corner, naked Clementine hangs out on a concrete ledge. She would swing her legs if she had any, puckered around her empty center, bold as anything under the sun’s blaze. When night turns cold, Clementine shivers her regret for peeling off there in the street, wishes she had not left so loose her spicy attire behind. She is sticky-sweet and irresistible to the wasp, his gold tooth shine disappearing inside.

Lori Brack's poems and essays have recently appeared in Sugared Water/Epistolary, The Fourth River, Mid-American Review, Another Chicago Magazine, and Superstition Review and its blog s[r], among others. Her chapbook, A Fine Place to See the Sky, is a poetic script for a work of performance art by Ernesto Pujol. It was published in 2010 by The Field School, New York. Brack teaches writing at a small college in Kansas.


  1. I especially like “”by chance a circle.” What do I think? Beautiful!

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