Review by Donna Vorreyer Tara Skurtu’s The Amoeba Game is a collection about moments and memory and how they collide, mutate and transform. An
For Krystal, on the day we buried your mother Remember the time we buried a goldfish in a film canister? Copper-tinted tail folded, tucked
Your body compels my gazing— droplets on tail, wing, and crown are daffodil, redcurrant, moon-gray light. Museums of you descend and shadow the ground,
The void reshuffles the deck, your card from a sister life. Poet, explain who sends these postcards from a sister-life? Her fingernails leave quarter