• 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
readings & workshops
April 6 - Jun 27

Book Club: Readshops led by Karl Gartung

readings & workshops
July 3 - Jun 30

Dhamma MKE

readings & workshops
October 22 - Jun 24

Welcome Home!: A Veterans Writing Group

readings & workshops
February 2 -23

Three Windows into Writing and Revising a Poem with Kathleen A. Dale

February 11 - Apr 5

Tarot: The (Re)Making of a Language

February 20

Formations Series for New and Improvised Music

readings & workshops
February 26

Poetry Reading: Jennifer Elise Foerster + Zoë Johnson

readings & workshops
February 26

Seeing in Invisibility: Poetry as revelation at UWM Libraries Special Collections

readings & workshops
February 27

Urban Echo Poets

readings & workshops
February 29

Visionary Narratives: A Workshop in Drawing Inspiration with Laurence Ross.

February 29

Reception for Tarot: The (Re)Making of a Language

readings & workshops
March 1 -29

On the Front Lines, Behind the Lines: Writing Protest Poetry with Margaret Rozga.

film & video
March 6

aCinema Screening

readings & workshops
March 12

Creative Confluence: Research for Hybrid Writing, a conversation with Heid E. Erdrich

readings & workshops
March 12

Poetry Reading: Heid E. Erdrich

readings & workshops
March 14

Poetry & Pi(e) featuring Vida Cross + Chuck Stebelton

March 19

Formations Series for New and Improvised Music

readings & workshops
March 20

Poetry Reading: Mark Bibbins + Elizabeth Hoover

readings & workshops
March 26

Poetry Reading: Eli Goldblatt + Charles Alexander

readings & workshops
March 28

Poetry Reading: Tara Betts + Jennifer Steele

Sally Delehant

Sally Delehant is a graduate of St. Mary's College of California's MFA program. Some of her work can be found in Calaveras, Columbia Poetry Review, Catch Up: Emerging Writers Issue, ONandOnScreen, Phantom Limb, and iO: A Journal of New American Poetry. Her first book of poems, A Real Time of It will be published by The Cultural Society in summer 2012. She lives in Chicago.

Selected Poems

It's Always Something

Sally Delehant


Yesterday the wind took our picture
off the wall over the piano;                  birds chirped
their curt symphonies in the box elder.            I thought
of you,               your obvious loveliness,          your obliviousness
to lost things.            An ambulance blinks two lanes over,
a restaurant goes under,         your little niece kicks off her shoe.

We pantomime infatuations,    put on scarves.
            You'll never again speak to your father.          What was
once my knee in a theater                   is tired eyes at a kitchen sink;
we fall into us.                            A squirrel upsets the feeder, hangs by one leg
and reaches.                      (Even my feet are angry.) You tromp in
muddy leaves,                        test the alarm,                 whisper lub-dub.

Silvered streets gird our apartment.                    I fasten
my parka           to leave.                        Everywhere muck, newspapers,
a blanket—       our neighbor in flip-flops has forgotten her key.
            I daydream the ocean, your hand on my ankle.
I'll walk without stopping, won't care if I ever do.         The wind can whip
its wants, can rattle each thing,                                       rip roofs from shingles

at angles.         I'll think of you—           forgetting
which switch is a light                            and which the disposal,
climbing on my back at a carnival,                    quieting
after pendulum hung work days.         The streetlights
have been on for an hour.               Nothing will let me come to you. 


Beach grass spears ankles
as we gallop beneath the sun.

Tossed, oceans underflowed,
we plow in our lost hour.

Loosed ticking finds time,
beading's collected water.

Stumped, particles of us
in sand, wrecked debris washed

up. It's possible to gather
if shattered. It's dependable

to falter if filled. Bugs in ships—
shoes run, unfetter, fling and fall.

Termites— terminus reverie
litter our rocked ceremony.

Love the sea's small papers
we crumple and throw. One mussel

cuddles concentration's corner.
Hermit shells scatter the beach;

the ebb is lonely and full. 


The world never ends, shuffles this clutter:
a tractor of a man, naked except for socks,
surfs my channels, eyes to the ceiling, his swirling
red dots. The everyday we spoke of— hearts
adorned with habit's form. Touched
into a puddle of pantyhose, stretched
between forever and the stove, my grandmother's
knuckles, my father's jumper cables in the rain.
Let's blow them out, smirking statue— pluck
petals from my embered plate. This, our never was,
our begin again, ate coats from the hall closet,
mopped us, two pennies— head and tail up.