Author Archives: Angie Macri

Heron Tree

Macri_HeronTree_2020.jpg“Witch Hollow Road” — a ragged sonnet — returns to the apple orchards of southern Illinois to explore our garden of origin in Heron Tree.


Macri_NELLE_2020.jpg“Iron Is Red When You Put Water on It” appears in the latest issue of NELLE. This poem uses free verse with slant rhymes to give space to daughter and mother, the playground, changes already come and more coming, all the rain.

Superstition Review

MacriAngie_SuperstitionReview_2019.jpgMy children are trying to find their way in the world. A while ago I wrote about this in a guest blog post for Superstition Review. It hasn’t gotten easier since then. As a child, I thought adults had the answers, that if I could just be good enough, aware enough, I would earn the key. It doesn’t work that way. Honestly, I’m not sure how it works, and as I watch my children’s lives buffeted by adults around them who are struggling with their own demons, I become desperate to protect them. And that is one of my demons, I know.

So it seems fitting now to have four poems – “Coronation,” “Recall,” “Subduction Zone,” “The Gates” – in the latest issue of Superstition Review. Each works with the archetype of the garden. Living in a neighborhood named Gardens Gate leads to those kinds of reflections.

We never left the garden. We consume it; we try to control it; we set it on fire because everything hasn’t gone the way we wanted.

But we weren’t cast out. We do that, to ourselves and to each other. Yet we’re still here, and we can choose another way.


Crab Orchard Review

Macri_CrabOrchardReview_2019.jpgWe live near two small lakes with a causeway between them. The banks fill with wild berries every year. The bears come, as well as every kind of bird and snake. I caught this in “Nothing could eat all the berries between the lakes,” a sonnet included in the recent World of Flavors issue of Crab Orchard Review.

This week began with a memorial in Arkansas for Jon Tribble at Camp Aldersgate. And so I share this poem with respect, and gratitude, for him, and for Allison. With love always to both of you.

Louisville Review

Macri_LouisvilleReview_2019.jpgMy father loved taking walks: on Long Island as a child, in southern Illinois on our farm, in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado where he retired, and in Arkansas where his life ended. He gave this love to me. “All One” – a sonnet full of walking – appears in the latest Louisville Review.