Jane Ann Fullerlives in the Hocking Hills of southeastern Ohio. Her work has appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, BODY, The MacGuffin, Shenandoah, Still:The Journal, All We Know of Pleasure:Poetic Erotica by Women, and elsewhere. Her debut manuscript, Half-Life, was published this past summer (2021) by Sheila-Na-Gig Editions.

Books by Jane Ann Fuller:

Other poems on the web by Jane Ann Fuller:
"Winter Wheat"
Two poems
"Rigor                 to a suicide"
Four poems

Jane Ann Fuller's Website.

Jane Ann Fuller on Twitter.

About Half-Life:

"Jane Ann Fuller takes on grief like a bird about to collide with herself on window glass. Because she also sees through to something else. To Icarus: … feathers, you oil them with hope. . . Extraordinary poetry, hard, reflexive truth: And you, in your willingness to surrender / your life, might appreciate my grieving / now that I have paid attention, / now that I know it's not love you were after, / but order. Something manageable. / Something of another world."
—Paul Nelson

"Indeed, there is a delicious aliveness to the language in these poems, in spite of the trauma and sadness they face."
—Temple Cone

"As readers of Fuller's Half-Life, we can only marvel at the quest to understand human nature in her unflinching study of art and the natural world. The act of processing tragedy by analysis cannot be mistaken for indifference; in fact, it's heartbreaking. The narrator has learned that in order to get on with the often dark business of living, one simply must persist. As survivors, we are returned to our own imaginations, and if we are as fortunate as Fuller's narrator, we find ourselves in the presence of the sublime: We can only imagine what you wanted, what you saw of us on the ground, waving frantically, happy at first you were flying, then swimming out to find you in the brilliant surf."
—Deni Naffziger

"Half-Life takes us to the darkest of places by way of Bruegel, whose "Massacre of the Innocents," was painted over, softening the siege to a pillage: The limbs of speared infants piled, painted over as mashed bushels of fruit… These poems originate in pain, yet they radiate light through their intense music and color. Children grow up in the shadow cast by their father's absence, his decision to leave. His dead star still shines at the poet through the blackness of space. There is something to be said for what Frost called being acquainted with the night. However harrowing the questions, Fuller asks them with a rare and original grace."
—Hillary Sideris

"A widow trains her body to hear grace notes. Fatigue. Duration. When solace seems far off, she offers water bending light. Unflinching poems walk readers through bones in a furnace to offer forgiveness. Feel birds sift through you, as you meet her Icarus. Half-life enters family trauma, teaching flight and nesting. Fuller rends hearts then mends them. With exquisite locution, with keen listening, she paints a constellation where we keep our better selves. We recognize her landscape of grief in ourselves."
—Lori Anderson Moseman