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Poetry. The death of a parent by vehicular homicide, the difficulty of meeting the needs of children with severe autism, the dissolution of identity and relationships in an era of unending genocide and terror by war these three poetic sequences piece together an intimate mourning, circuitous and sewn, a symptom of grief and the recursive process of grieving. Each poem of this assured debut, encoded by fragmentary attentions that surface before the mind shuts out all signals of time passing without the missing, is a crystalline approximation of coping with loss. Through an exacting poetics of impression and submerge, sped sutures broken thoughts, snippets of conversation, incidents both witnessed and obscured into unexpected configurations until the scar that remains becomes yet another facet language can't account for. "They are so still you can pet the fuzz, but they shudder // I turned the desk on the slant to roll toward it instead of away / only the corner of the corkboard stayed on the wall // Portuguese acres of gnarled brown trees / bark peeled off in wide black rings // In every storefront a church and a man who wants to walk me home to my boyfriend because my skin is so soft // Except there is no cure, only desperate offerings / oxygen therapy, elimination diet, blood transfusion, chelation // We speak in tongues, writhe on the ground/ broken headed// .]