Meltwater: Poems

Wahmanholm (Redmouth) delivers a dynamic collection of poems in which parenthood, nature, reverie, and anticipation intersect in a surreal landscape that illustrates the cognitive dissonance of an age of impending destruction. Death and obsolescence reign in these poems, luring the author into a civil war between agency and dread. She describes intrusive thoughts of death: “I snap my mind away// like a sleeve from an open flame, but the thought/ will finish what it started”; irrepressible longing: “I woke from myself, cupped within sorrow’s hands./ In that blood light, I was a sudden nebula of desire”; self-preservation: “I can see the smoke, can close up my throat on command”; and necessary hope: “I have declared myself a believer in magic,/ have dared to imagine my children are safe.” These poems are full of lyricism, humility, and tactility, accented by virtuosic alliteration and, in some moments, wry gems: “I do not need to play dead./ Not even death would want to play with me.” Her mastery of language is most conspicuous in the title entry, an erasure piece sourced from Lacy M. Johnson: “O uncommonly sunny/ death// that/ brightened// the// summer/ snow.// the melting point/ of// ice/ is/ Empire// formed by dust/ ;// we// were/ baptized/ in// concrete// and// our/ own acceleration.” This is a hypnotic and devastating maelstrom of introspection. (Mar.)