Rise and Float

Tierney’s finely wrought debut captures the electric movement of his mind in poems that slip fluidly between subjects, from “five U.S. flags left standing/ on the moon, five dollars/ each,” to the irony of “trees we press into reams on which we write down our history of cutting down the trees,” to his godmother’s ashes. In “Hearses,” he confides: “A professor once wrote me that to write of fruit/ or flowers or dreams, no matter how deftly,/ is the lowest form of metaphor, after processions.” He then proceeds to use every trope mentioned with unrestrained glee. Dreams allow Tierney to revisit place and memory in original ways: “aluminum/ siding the color of my skin/ enwrapping the duplex where I lived, as a boy, by the ruins of a bridge.” Often, memories linger in painful places—the suicide and mental illness of loved ones, an eating disorder, the illness and death of a father: “My father’s hands/ are rain-/ damp and smell/ of corduroy/ worn too long/ in the sun.” This powerful collection offers readers a probing, visual, tactile exploration of the past, while allowing space for tenderness and understanding. (Feb.)