Charlotte Boulay

Strong, will re-visit sometime soon.

Those poems are lovely, green and damp like a muggy summer evening. The language evocative, sometimes mysterious, sometimes at play in the field of poetry with shoutouts and callbacks to other poets. I finished the volume pleased, enough, but yet without any poem grabbing me in particular, no lines hooked into my soul, no conviction that there was a single poem that would cause me to take this volume down off the shelf to read it again and again. Pretty, playful foxes. Not enough barbs.