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jadareyes1's review against another edition
"We didn't register as required, which disappoints you. / Why do you trust the courthouse, the census, the bank?"
"What is it like, to still have a body? / Like insects, or velvet - we almost remember. / That's why we sent you the dreams."
so! good! poetry + comix + family histories, some of my favorite things
"What is it like, to still have a body? / Like insects, or velvet - we almost remember. / That's why we sent you the dreams."
so! good! poetry + comix + family histories, some of my favorite things
rahthesungod's review against another edition
4.0
This tiny history wrapped up like poetry sits heavy in your stomach like a tough meal. If I were to teach Black American Literature I would accompany ROOTS with Black Genealogy. Kiki Petrosino has great command of language, her poetry concise but open-ended, her questions cloying and sad with the near-miss of lack of closure. I imagine the story presented here, artfully with the poems-in-comic-form assistance of Lauren Haldeman, is a near universal struggle to understand one's identity without any tangible history.
Having not read Petrosino's other books (though I think I've seen her read?) nor having explored this volume before picking it up to read it, I did not expect the title to be so accurate. This is a volume of poetry with a narrative arc, an investigation into a genealogy that is fraught with trauma and grit and questions upon questions upon questions, and so much grief.
There's something (I know this is a sloppy review and meandering evermore) I hadn't realized: the poems DRIP with grief. But in a way that's almost crystalline? A concentrated version of grief, its barest, purest form but opaque?
Whatever, it's an excellent book.
Having not read Petrosino's other books (though I think I've seen her read?) nor having explored this volume before picking it up to read it, I did not expect the title to be so accurate. This is a volume of poetry with a narrative arc, an investigation into a genealogy that is fraught with trauma and grit and questions upon questions upon questions, and so much grief.
There's something (I know this is a sloppy review and meandering evermore) I hadn't realized: the poems DRIP with grief. But in a way that's almost crystalline? A concentrated version of grief, its barest, purest form but opaque?
Whatever, it's an excellent book.
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