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
Inside the box, a puddle of pearl. When lifted by its thread-thin straps, it cascaded into the form of a negligee gown. She said
I’d just got done taking down the Christmas tree when my family called to warn me that my grandfather was breathing through a tube
The Aeromancer divines the future by reading sky signs, clouds, bird flights, lightning My mother set a tumbler of gold Jack Daniels beside Pall