April was fantastic, but I’m still way behind, trying to catch up. Although I’m a month late for April’s poetry pick, I didn’t want to skip writing about this book. Briefly:
Jennifer K. Sweeney’s newest collection, Little Spells, is a heartbreak, is a solace, is a journey. It is winter moving into spring. It is steel and cloud. It is blood and memory. It is quietly fierce.
Two of my favorite lines, among so many favorites, come from “Winter, Parenthetical”:
I had wished to live in a country of bad weather and nested
inside a winter inside a winter inside a long night.
(I walked around for days repeating that second line in my head, amazed at how it both haunts and satisfies, a completeness without comfort.)
I hope to write more later. In the meantime, for a poem, see “The Embryologist.”