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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?