Write a Line that is Our State: On Nicholas Gulig, Poet Laureate of Wisconsin
The afternoon light is failing as Nicholas Gulig and I march through knee-high snow on the sixteen acres of land my wife and I own south of Eau Claire. The same land where, years ago, Gulig and his wife Fon were married. He is holding a beautiful literary journal called Neck, while I cradle a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun. The publishers of Neck have informed him that if he documents the destruction of their phone-book-sized journal, a new copy will be sent to him, gratis.