Photo by Kalon on Unsplash I have featured Tony Hoagland before here. I think I like his poetry because it creates such a clear mental picture of the scene he is describing. Maybe that is what I like about poetry in general. It is like a snapshot of an image or an emotion. She goes out to hang the windchime in her nightie and her work boots. It’s six-thirty in the morning and she’s standing on the plastic ice chest tiptoe to reach the crossbeam of the porch, windchime in her left hand, hammer in her right, the nail gripped tight between her teeth but nothing happens next because she’s trying to figure…