Paperback Price: 15.95
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-938584-08-4


Selected Poem

Animal Warmth

Is it my imagination, or do the deer’s coats darken in winter?

Sweetheart, what I said on the phone about sharing a bed together,
that fear of insomnia that haunts me like a gravy stain,
I was wrong to mention it. Forgive me. Truly, I’ve learned
that sleeping with you is what I wanted all along.

My years of restless nights were caused by the dearth of you beside me,
as if I knew you were there, behind a screen, and couldn’t reach you.

What matters most as we step delicately into our thicket,
our dark coats exactly the shade of dampened bark, is the certainty
that we are truer together than we are alone.

So if I wake you as I thrash to widen my small dent in the snow,
or if you wake me throwing your arm over my chest,
I trust I can fall asleep again, can rest because of your breathing,
your particular snore-note,

and that the beasts I fear, the wolf, the hunter—though they will find us
one night, and first one of us, then the other, will be taken—

I don’t have to think about it now, not tonight, not this year
as we climb into our covers and fall deep into the snowy woods,
into animal warmth, sleepers and lovers.

Devil, Dear


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“When Mary Ann McFadden lures us into her fertile and earthy-pungent poems, we become lost in her world of “jellied forms,” in “clouds of milk in water” and we feel as the speaker of these poems feels when she says “The things of this world fill me up.” These poems are sly and full of generous humor and wisdom. To read McFadden is to be surprised, in poem after poem, by the ecstatic.”
—Anne Marie Macari

Devil, Dear teems with erotic life. These poems adore the world within us and outside us, embracing our hungers and imperfections alike. I love Mary Ann McFadden’s range of tones and her long, musical lines, shaped by the pressures of intelligence and deep honesty. She takes us to the edge of an irresolvable mystery and lets us see its beauty.”
—Joan Larkin

“Mary Ann McFadden’s wise and compassionate poems celebrate a world of wild-life and animal warmth, oceanic communions and ecstatic sexual unions. Old flames rekindled by intimacy reveal the hard-won heart-truths that state, “We are truer together than we are alone.” “Now I mourn the loss of magic,” the poet writes. “Now I see it everywhere.””
—Louis Asekoff

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