Tatiana Schlossberg

As Mr. Collins Said, With a Modest Chuckle

The poem begins with the routine event of chopping parsley, a serious and yet absurd musing on a nursery rhyme known to all — three blind mice — and quickly spins into a quiet meditation on the sneaking cynicism that prevents us from feeling, and then, in shame, makes us feel all the more.

 

 

 

It’s not every day that you can walk into the Grange Hall and hear the steel drums of the Drum Workshop, Inc. plinking in one corner, the delicate strumming of the berimbau from the Angola Center for Capoeira drifting in from another, and artists, artisans and performers chatting about the various projects they have on the horizon.

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