Robin Sinclair’s poetry reveals, in careful construction, the movement in grief. This is Robin’s homage to the human body. They are ruminant, reflective, hauntingly tender when they speak, “I wonder what all of this will look like when completely healed.” Here is gentle longing, they shape it as both touch and desire. I believe Robin when they write, “There are bones in dirt they’re sure of if they just knew where to dig.” The body is alive, “viciously creating a future.” Here, we lean in to listen to the music of all that we don’t remember happening. The music is as real as it is indelible, and it speaks to you, “There’s so much hunger here, my love. They feed us well, but not what we need, and if I don’t get out soon I fear I may starve.” And if this isn’t the truth, I don’t know what is.

-Tanya Singh