This is Luanne Armstrong’s monumental effort to make sense of her world by grabbing onto it with words. There are some lovely images: “At the lake’s edge,/granite seams, mounded split loaves, rock breasts/the water opening to light.” These images don’t quite do it for Luanne, though. “I want to get to the bottom of things,” she laments. “I am at the edge/waiting/to bring forth what is moving in me/blood deep and painful/words made flesh.” While there is certainly some good stuff in this collection, to find it you have to first get past Luanne, who seems hell- bent on telling us what she hopes to accomplish through her poems, how she wants to “call storms, throw curses, gentle horses, tell stories.” “Can you hear me?” she asks. “This is my voice.” We hear you Luanne, so just relax and give us some more of those lovely images. (KS)
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