Carol Hill Marks

Carol Hill Marks lives in southern Indiana, where she hopes for the best. She can spin wool into yarn and knit some mittens, but she cannot spin straw into gold. She has also never gone catfish hunting, but imagines it is an exciting and smelly business. This is her fourth book. She has published three other collections of poetry: You Know Where We Were, I Dreamed I Met Vermeer, and Belongs to the Earth. She can be found in a virtual kind of way from time to time at carolhillmarks.wordpress.com.

Carol Hill Marks lives in southern Indiana, where she hopes for the best. She can spin wool into yarn and knit some mittens, but she cannot spin straw into gold. She has also never gone catfish hunting, but imagines it is an exciting and smelly business. This is her fourth book. She has published three other collections of poetry: You Know Where We Were, I Dreamed I Met Vermeer, and Belongs to the Earth. She can be found in a virtual kind of way from time to time at carolhillmarks.wordpress.com. See less