Molly Brodak published a full length collection of poetry, A Little Middle of the Night (University of Iowa Press, 2010), a memoir, Bandit: A Daughter's Memoir (Grove Atlantic, 2016), and three chapbooks of poetry. Her most recent collection, The Cipher, won the 2019 Pleiades Press Editors Prize. Before her death in 2020, she taught writing and literature at numerous institutions, including Emory University, Savannah College of Art and Design, and Georgia College and State University. An accomplished baker and recipient of a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts, Brodak's poems appeared in such publications as Granta, Guernica, and Poetry Magazine.

Other poems by Molly Brodak in Verse Daily:
February 27, 2005:  "After The Accident" "The wires are beaded..."

Books by Molly Brodak:

Other poems on the web by Molly Brodak:
Three poems
"Otto Dix"
"WebPoem"
"The Cipher"
Three poems
Three poems
Three poems
Three poems
Two poems
"Day (with an annotation by Blake Butler)"
"The Flood"
"Net, Web"
Two poems
Three poems
Two poems

Molly Brodak According to Wikipedia.

About The Cipher:

"Where the void begins, most are afraid to go. Some travel there like tourists, though, so they can have a story to tell us, or a wisdom to namedrop. A third type travels to where the void begins to simply bear witness to it, to extend it an audience, ceding us a space to enter the conversation."
—Mark Leidner

"As a poet, Molly Brodak worked with the particular means of words, making expert arrangement of their patterns, referents, roots, and sounds. Through this work, Brodak reached out to touch the elusive 'fog around facts' and translate it into a space that she and her readers might share, across separate times. That space is, like the world she inhabited, sometimes a painful place to be, sometimes softly astonishing. Cipher is a memorable, beautiful work by a brilliant poet, one I will forever miss."
—Heather Christle

"The Cipher, of course, evades easy definition—Manichean nightmare, diary of a naturalist gone mad, picnic with paradox—none suffices; this one refuses to be 'caught.' The book is built from the outside in, the poet pricking and prodding us with visions until we find ourselves transfused. What other poet could pull this off—leave us with a rat's head for a god—part-Orpheus, part-Wizard of Oz, who sings as he 'moves through the dark' with his one candle, lighting the way where Brodak has left us, in dread, and in awe."
—Larissa Szporluk