the event means and more about how to bring it to life in a poem. And she can do that heartbreakingly well. Ford's sludgy lines eddy and snag on unexpected lyricisms: "Blue tarps drape the oysters/harvested from contaminated beds," she writes in "Fish Market," "silverlings caught from trestles of the resealed lake."
from John Freeman: The Star-Ledger: Sorrow rains down
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