When culling through poems for chapbook material, the author settled on her deep-seated preoccupation with the elusive nature of time and memory. And so too does the narrator in Quicksilver, a female who functions in the present as "recall's rough teeth, its flecks of / so-what" nip unexpectedly. Gossamer-thin recollections enhance and complicate the present as her departed loved ones reappear, uninvited. As she leans in with wonder and wariness, the past clasps her ankle.
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