Coachella Elegy

Gullette’s precise debut features familial elegies alongside desert scenes, artisanal cocktails, and swimming pools: “We drink Fernet by ironic sculptures/ under misters that make our bangs damp” (“Palm Springs”). Booze, skin, and a series of Airbnbs with mid-century modern furnishings set the scene for the underlying unease: “is that freedom, this wandering?” Indeed, it seems more like avoidance, though the realities keep bubbling up: a lover with melanoma, resulting in the loss of an eye; a difficult brother who died young. The places passed through are similar: arid cities and resort areas that have been scrubbed of past dangers to accommodate childless gay couples . Like the evocative landscape, Gullete’s language is spare, at times bordering on flat, while his sex scenes are tender and deliciously sly, embedding joy in the delectable crustiness of a fish baked in sea salt or the look of a fruit: “I’ve never even held/ a pomegranate before;// its star-shaped mouth/ says that it lived.” These searching poems successfully capture mourning for both past and future deaths, as well as ancillary losses: “If my orchids don’t survive, then I’m not meant/ to raise a child.” Gullette delivers a nuanced, well-paced collection. (July)