Family mayhem and uncertainty is voiced with conviction by this narrator who knows without any doubt that she's not Evelyn. In this second volume by author Susan Hankla, who hails from Roanoke, Virginia, women run across the lawn in their slips spilling coffee, have their legs breathed on in dark movie palaces by dragons, are accused of shoplifting in Swimwear, go to God on the way to delivering freshly baked pies... women read Sylvia Plath and chew gum during yoga class. Women, in this anarchic volume of poems, have boyfriends whose nosebleeds make them miss a home which may not exist. Within these leaving-home-behind-spun poems made of lang-tangles and gleeful amusements, lyrical narrative bytes of millgrists and drift, find dreamy pies made of fruit flies and mimosa trees you can really sit up in along with homemade biscuits dipped in honey and memory.
Poetry.
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Poetry