"Anguished and unblinking . . . Accomplished poetry that will move those who have sorrowed—that is, everyone." — Library Journal"The thin knife that severed your tumor," writes Brooke Matson in these poems, "it cleaves me still." What to do when a world is split—terribly, wholly—by grief? When the loss of the beloved undermines the most stable foundations, the most sacred spaces, of that world? What else but to interrogate the very fundamental principles th...