Reviewed by Anna Scotti francine j. harris’s third collection, here is the sweet hand, is a messy compilation, a demonstration of the poet’s exhaustive
The day after the roof tips, I catch you at the edge. Leaning up against the fence, waiting to see this thing come
I’m scrubbing egg and dried-on rice from the bowls, dunking cups through the sudsy murk. He brings me a square of paper dotted with
Translated by Rebecca Ruth Gould and Kayvan Tahmasebian Here in this bright room in the inn I’m happy you’re not here with me