Juliana Baggott has written fiction books for adults and teens; and as N.E. Bode or herself for children. I've read 8 of her books, including the SF YA trilogy that begins with [Pure]. I have three previous collections of her poetry, and now this, the latest. Clearly, I have loved her poetry (yes, you can call me a fan).

The poetry in this latest volume of poetry is wonderfully weird, sometimes funny, and always wise. She's let it all out in this collection, even just the titles are a delight:

"Claustrophobia: The Closet's Perspective"
"To My Lover, About His Bouffage Eating of Meats"
"To My Lover, His Hair Thick With Bear Grease"
"Today—Bored, Puckered and Lonesome—I Would Like to Order a Russian Internet Bride: A Trisonetto"
"Lice: A Mother-Daughter Love Poem"
and my favorite: "After Having Sex on Palm Sunday, Some Clarity."

I will skip the usual review beyond what I have already said and include one of my favorite poems from the collection (not sure if the format will hold up in the post)

"For the Blind Botanist's Wife"

We let the backyard go to field,
saw mice
swimming through it
and so we cut it back.

The mice came inside
to die in the walls.
The scent pooled in our bedroom,
lingered so
midair, overhead, bled
throughout the house.

I imagined John Gough, able to point

past the picture hung
to hide your fist-print
the shocked wall
pocked, headboard-worn

He would know the scent
Here she is. Curled dead,
pregnant, womb-spun
a week and two days gone.

What was it like to be Mrs John Gough—
to be a woman known
by scent, to be

known like furred bees,
knots of weedy stems, discerned
by the give of your skin,
its fevered burn? ( )