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A review by amaldae
Life in a Box is a Pretty Life by Dawn Lundy Martin
4.0
How rare to finish a book of poetry on the same day it is started. How rare, then, to return to it immediately. This is something I wish to internalize and then spit out again (if possible); resolutely depressing, yet begging to be heard the world over.
I'm not making much sense, am I? I hope this is not making you-the-collective-of-potential-readers afraid, the box being more than references, and knowable to all. I think? (but at root, black, and queer, and most familiar to bodies deemed female.)
I wish I could do it more justice - & say things other than modern poetry really, really isn't so intimidating once the right collection is found. I wish someone hesistant out there will give this one a chance. But you kind of knew that already.
I'm not making much sense, am I? I hope this is not making you-the-collective-of-potential-readers afraid, the box being more than references, and knowable to all. I think? (but at root, black, and queer, and most familiar to bodies deemed female.)
To be in memory, destructive impulses,
a worship in the side room of the mind.
--
Survival skills liturgy:
Except, who was taken? We want to imagine our connections like sweet water.
Except, the possibility of complete missingness of the person. [...]
Sometimes, in spite of myself, the word, God.
A book is nothing, they say.
A want to theorize this phrase but then flesh just gone.
Tisa tells me about the coming dirt shortage. (p. 51)
I wish I could do it more justice - & say things other than modern poetry really, really isn't so intimidating once the right collection is found. I wish someone hesistant out there will give this one a chance. But you kind of knew that already.