In this wistfully lyrical collection, Christle tends to the fragments of selfhood with an ethereal, dreamlike sensibility. Speaking out with stream-of-conscious urgency, the body is exposed as half-human, half-other and held together by holes. As though gazing up through a luscious canopy of green, each poem becomes a vivid spectacle of play and patchwork, as the form itself is flawlessly consistent in mirroring the mesmeric tapestry of trees * Poetry Book Society *
Heather Christle's poems are magical
Ecstatic, breathless, full of incandescent humour and wonder . . . Read and love her seemingly spontaneous utterances, spun from her rapt attention to daily life, nature, solitude, romance, to her own reeling and enchanting imagination
Heather Christle's poems may well be one of the places readers turn when they want to know what it was like to be young and paying attention in the early 21st century . . . Her poems are wide awake
At least once per poem, you feel like the triple-bars just lined up in the slot machine window and you laugh or cry out
