Reviewed by Jamie Lorenzen In the opening stanza of the title poem of her second book of poems, Michelle Meyer’s ostensible trouble with being
Fountain County, Indiana December 14, 2021, 5:00 a.m. Located on Myaamia land Walking out into deep country dark, the sky, black silk, the stars’
Looking up at the sky, I remember Earth doesn’t stand still, calm and reassuring, a garden in Abinger Hammer, with afternoon tea and hedgerows,
I plug the smudged tub in our cold bathroom, open the tap, unshuck myself from my robe and wade in lumbering, seven months pregnant.