I ran my palms along her edges and peered into her joints. Why did I lose myself in the narrative here? How was that transition so effortless?
Read MoreBarrelhouse Reviews: IF THIS WERE FICTION by Jill Christman
University of Nebraska Press
Barrelhouse Reviews: YOUR CRIB, MY QIBLA by Saddiq Dzukogi
The entire section is a holy conversation within this one poet’s self. It charts a movement through grief, from fragmentation to connection.
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