Sally Allen McNall

Sally Allen McNallSally Allen McNall’s poems have been published widely in many of the leading literary magazines including Prairie Schooner, Midwest Quarterly, Permafrost, Cincinnati Poetry Review, and New Letters. She was a winner in 1997 of the National Poetry Chapbook contest sponsored by State Street Press for her manuscript How To Behave At The Zoo and Other Lessons. She currently teaches at California State University, Chico.

Books by Sally Allen McNall for the Backwaters Press

Rescue Rescue by Sally Allen McNall

Author: Sally Allen McNall
Format: Paperback, 67 pages
ISBN: 0967714907
Published: March 2000

Buy This Book: Amazon – Barnes & Noble

Awards for Rescue

The Backwaters Prize, 1999

Critical Praise for Rescue

Five or six times I’ve encountered voices such as hers that seem to me indispensable. All the virtues are here—charity, compassion, honesty, tenderness, generosity of spirit. Each turns its facets flashing light at just the right moment. These are poems that will sustain us long into the next century.
Greg Kuzma – Author of Good News

Poems from Rescue by Sally Allen McNall

Madeline in a Prospect of Flowers

We have Sunday, all of us, the first Sunday of a whole week off.
We drive an hour up the dirt road to Table Mountain, to see wildflowers
together, and the wild sky all around, the crazy colliding clouds.
Two and a half, you herded us out to the car for the ride
let’s go let’s go, and sing as we go, of mailboxes, chickens and pickup trucks.
We pass trailers of old couples who’ve staked out their days on five acres of hillside,
the whole Butte County Historical Society Annual Barbecue and plant sale,
and two women by a Buick in their Sunday clothes, having a serious argument.

We walk out on Table Mountain as if onto tundra, mosses, chunks of volcanic rock,
flowers like constellations. Whole families spread out picnics and try to get kites in the air.
Every grownup on this cold lava flow looks tired and alert for trouble.
We grit our teeth, grin, try not to think about prices or Congress or freeways
or Monday, or what we hate or fear about the jobs we have or don’t.
We look up at the sky, down at the flowers, the kids this very minute.

You hunker down to poke we don’t pick the pink, the blue star, white mallow,
little wild lupine, rock rose, primrose, daisy goldfields oh flowers oh look look.
In pinafore and hightops you squat and croon to the yellow stars about you,
get both hands into the soaked black earth. My blossom, you are not a bit like a flower.
You declare each day a flower and we believe you, against all evidence.

 

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