Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.  A lover of warm weather, she watches the snow come and go, waiting and hoping for spring. From the window in front of her desk, she observes an abundance of migrating birds, several generations of turkeys, and the occasional fox, deer, and raccoon. Some of those make their way into her poetry. Phyllis has read her poems on the radio, in coffee shops, in libraries and bars, and her work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies.