In asking us to “believe in” clouds, this poem surrenders to both the changing nature of things and the instability of self, the ever-shifting interconnectedness of self with other.

With the finesse of a magician, Brundage unpacks, upends, and performs sleights of hand with words we have shoved into closets.

The speaker doesn’t necessarily want her hunger, or maybe just doesn’t always feel comfortable always carrying it, stoking its fire.

What becomes evident in Wagner’s collection is the bloody costs of our collective heritage, and how we pay those costs throughout the ages.

Living in a human body is complex and nuanced. Acknowledging these subtleties is a way of embracing full existence, including life’s enigmas.

A sobering reminder that the mountain and the mosquito will be here long after we are gone.

It seems the way back for Karrick is a matter of allowing for beauty in every moment, even in what he might initially find irritating or ugly.

An adventurous collection, filled with humor and optimism, Ardor is a future-thinking text.

The crux of Brookins’ resistance: to find beauty in the fight, and to acknowledge that imagining is good, but having is better.

Realizing that you are driving, or perhaps living, toward an unattainable life fuels the collection’s philosophical musings. 

These poems are saturated with images of Antigone, autonomy, and the diaphanous film that stands between us and death.

The stones are burdens given to the speaker, but also accepted. Women are taught to abide. Taught to carry.

The fluidity of the sea finds an equivalent in the fluidity of memory. Crews constructs a world (and a love) that transcends time’s usual strictures.

Here, memory is both personal and communal. The four sections of the collection cross time and space, braiding together difficult experiences.

It’s as if the speakers have been starved of their ancestral languages, and so their English reaches for oracular truths.

So many author interviews start with “welcome to the pages of Driftwood.” New readers will feel the warmth of that welcome.

Green’s “songs” communicate the possibility of finding pleasure and connection in a body previously dismissed as a myth.

“The Internet is not your friend—you shouldn’t let it tend to you so soon.“