The Pony From Waco by Evan Williams
“How much magic a meadow imagines. How much magic / has not imagined the meadow. In Evan William’s The Pony From Waco, everything is both itself & not itself. Small words we often overlook—quarter, pony, meadow, moon—revolve in an almost frantic orbit throughout every poem, each one a planet itself orbiting & orbiting some private center. But at the center of these fantastic revolutions is a payphone—that is to say, a way for reaching outward. The payphone dials meadow, dials pony, dials me—each quarter spent is another wish cast for the desired answer. You are blue with joy., Williams writes. You are suffocating from the space. Williams’ chapbook is testament that though every hurt begins with care, care is always just a phonecall away. The rodeo, ultimately, is worth it.”
— Constantine Jones, author of In Still Rooms (The Operating System 2020)
“How much magic a meadow imagines. How much magic / has not imagined the meadow. In Evan William’s The Pony From Waco, everything is both itself & not itself. Small words we often overlook—quarter, pony, meadow, moon—revolve in an almost frantic orbit throughout every poem, each one a planet itself orbiting & orbiting some private center. But at the center of these fantastic revolutions is a payphone—that is to say, a way for reaching outward. The payphone dials meadow, dials pony, dials me—each quarter spent is another wish cast for the desired answer. You are blue with joy., Williams writes. You are suffocating from the space. Williams’ chapbook is testament that though every hurt begins with care, care is always just a phonecall away. The rodeo, ultimately, is worth it.”
— Constantine Jones, author of In Still Rooms (The Operating System 2020)
“How much magic a meadow imagines. How much magic / has not imagined the meadow. In Evan William’s The Pony From Waco, everything is both itself & not itself. Small words we often overlook—quarter, pony, meadow, moon—revolve in an almost frantic orbit throughout every poem, each one a planet itself orbiting & orbiting some private center. But at the center of these fantastic revolutions is a payphone—that is to say, a way for reaching outward. The payphone dials meadow, dials pony, dials me—each quarter spent is another wish cast for the desired answer. You are blue with joy., Williams writes. You are suffocating from the space. Williams’ chapbook is testament that though every hurt begins with care, care is always just a phonecall away. The rodeo, ultimately, is worth it.”
— Constantine Jones, author of In Still Rooms (The Operating System 2020)