Wideawake Field: Poems

The chairs have come in and the crisp yellow thwock of the ball being hit says somehow, now that it's fall,

I'm a memory of myself.

My whole old life—

I mourn you sometimes in places you would have been.

—October

The poems in this fierce debut are an attempt to record what matters. As a reporter's dispatches, they concern themselves with different forms of desolation: what it means to feel at home in wrecked places and then to experience loneliness and dislocation in the familiar. The collect...