A review by halfcactus
Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

5.0

Isn’t it funny? How the cold numbs everything but grief.
If we could light up the room with pain,
we’d be such a glorious fire.


Clock: turn back, turn back—
everything you’ve dialed to black.


What was it I wanted?
The captain to sail safely? To land alive and, like survival, loved?