Reviewed by John Bradley “Everything past this page is a fiction” the reader is warned before reading a single poem in this book. It’s
There is only the memory of the experience; the pain itself is impossible to recall. I remember saying to you: This is the worst
after Rose-Lynn Fisher’s “after goodbye” from The Topography of Tears like stitches like scratches like scars on the skin like crossroads littered like pavement
The morning snow was all wrong, the way it spun—gray, almost dry, rattled against the eaves, old wraith fingers rapping, tapping to wake