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minaros's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
fast-paced
5.0
Absolutely stunning poetry. Visceral, lingering, unforgettable.
queerofthedagger's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
5.0
The best poetry collection since Siken and Vuong, holy shit.
millyferg's review against another edition
5.0
The interplay between what the poet is going through and what is imagined through her poetry is very stark and at the same time coy with us.
Her letters to Thanatos and Eros are some of my favorites while her lullabies are haunting and make you think.
Her letters to Thanatos and Eros are some of my favorites while her lullabies are haunting and make you think.
listless_librarian's review against another edition
dark
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
verephernelia's review against another edition
5.0
Everything I ever wanted from poetry and a bit more.
akroth's review against another edition
5.0
Absolutely brilliant. It left me speechless and staring at the wall.
lvndrmeg's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? Yes
4.25
very good collection of poems. each poem was amazing and it was very powerful taken together. a lot of it we t over my head tho for sure. will hopefully read again one day
notchey's review against another edition
5.0
Lullaby On Mount Moriah
Traci Brimhall
The lullaby I wrote on your throat about the stained
hilt of the knife in my hand begins—Whisper, or snow
will come and make its sadness famous in your mouth.
The why of you a radiant devilfish, the what of you
a fat little soul blueing at the edges.
The surest way to receive a free ram is to tie your son’s hands
behind his back. Offer me a metaphor, God said.
Abraham stretched Isaac out on a rock, Like this?
Do not be impatient with the gift. It will bleed out in the time
it takes shadows and atoms to inch their way between stars.
Every fire thinks it’s a part of God, but lightning
is not a promise, a flag is not a shield. Love wants you
to believe that somewhere there’s a god that can
do your dying for you. There are raptures that won’t
come for you and the raptures that will.
In between, satellites blink the news to the lights in our hands.
Love will teach you many things, most of them tragic—
like last kisses and letters under your windshield,
like helplessness, like the man on the news weeping
and carrying what remains of his son in a plastic bag.
And Abraham said, This is how much I love you, and measured
Isaac from ankle to scalp. Love will gut you and then ask
you to carry on singing with light on your tongue
as a father finds flies crowning his son’s dreamless head
radiant as the hand of God ushering a late sheep from the bushes.
Traci Brimhall
The lullaby I wrote on your throat about the stained
hilt of the knife in my hand begins—Whisper, or snow
will come and make its sadness famous in your mouth.
The why of you a radiant devilfish, the what of you
a fat little soul blueing at the edges.
The surest way to receive a free ram is to tie your son’s hands
behind his back. Offer me a metaphor, God said.
Abraham stretched Isaac out on a rock, Like this?
Do not be impatient with the gift. It will bleed out in the time
it takes shadows and atoms to inch their way between stars.
Every fire thinks it’s a part of God, but lightning
is not a promise, a flag is not a shield. Love wants you
to believe that somewhere there’s a god that can
do your dying for you. There are raptures that won’t
come for you and the raptures that will.
In between, satellites blink the news to the lights in our hands.
Love will teach you many things, most of them tragic—
like last kisses and letters under your windshield,
like helplessness, like the man on the news weeping
and carrying what remains of his son in a plastic bag.
And Abraham said, This is how much I love you, and measured
Isaac from ankle to scalp. Love will gut you and then ask
you to carry on singing with light on your tongue
as a father finds flies crowning his son’s dreamless head
radiant as the hand of God ushering a late sheep from the bushes.