• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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exhibitions
October 6 -28

Exhibition - Ugly Duckling Presse: 25th Anniversary Celebration

performances
October 18

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

readings & workshops
October 20

Poetry Reading: Soham Patel and Lauren Russell 

readings & workshops
October 25

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets + Open Mic

readings & workshops
October 28

Poetry Reading: Kathleen A. Dale, Louisa Loveridge Gallas, Judith Harway, and Bill Murtaugh

special events
November 17

We Exist to Prove the Living Artist: 38th Anniversary Gala

readings & workshops
November 30

Poetry Reading: Anna Vitale and Daniel Owen

film & video
December 14

Film Screening: Riverwest Film & Video by Emir Cakaroz

Anne Shaw

Anne Shaw is the author of two poetry collections:Dido in Winter, (Persea, 2014), and Undertow(Persea, 2007), winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky Poetry Prize. Her poems and reviews have appeared in journals including Harvard Review, Black Warrior Review, Denver Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, The Kenyon Review, and New American Writing. She currently lives in Chicago, where she studies sculpture at the School of the Art Institute. Her work can be found online at www.anneshaw.org.

Selected Poems

Invitation

Anne Shaw

           Voices drift across the lawn
and form in the shape of clovers. A slight breeze
           bezels the fishpond, lens
                  of grainy light, black

           cord covered with electric tape. Kneel
on the concrete. Tile, sedge.

                                    Koi ghost out
                        to meet you, blunt-
                                           edged hunger curving
                                     blindly up.

Take this bract that rises and subsides.

                          Butterscotch or red and white,
                                                      their bodies slick
                                       as sorrow, lathered
                             with the cold, unseemly weed.

           Elsewhere, there's a party.
   Clink of glasses, square of kitchen light.

                         Elsewhere, a pair of pliers
             spreads
                           its implicate beak.
                                                          A hooded sweatshirt
                    gestures from the bottom of a lake.

Here, put these on. You're going to need
             the leather gloves I tossed off in the shed.

Speech is just an instrument to register
the night. I offer

                   you no hook, no tool,
                   nothing to make fast

no metal implement with which to cut or mend.