Think of the Danger

In her robust debut collection, Brown proves herself a diligent student of the question "Does the hand on fire/ lose its urgency, stagnated to image?" These poems answer with a resounding no. Nothing here stagnates%E2%80%94Brown's descriptive energy and intellect burn fiercely, challenging readers to deal with the heat she brings and the alluring light of her flame. Brown posits the poem as a frontier, ready to be pushed into and populated: "These small boxes exist/ to be filled with images,/ or oranges, or shore/ noise, or orcas." And populate it she does, in thoughtful, almost desperate, detail. "Detail a process," she writes, "detail/ Your agency%E2%80%94bodyless, bottomless./ Screws all tightening, water rising,/ Stippled, verbal." Brown's particulars don't expect to be strong simply because they exist, however; these details consider themselves, giving way to an articulate understanding that their presence and placement is a life-or-death matter for the poem and its author: "My vision goes pink as a sunset./ There are so many ways for me to tell you about it./ The one I pick will make a difference, small but fatal." Such work presents risks%E2%80%94"think of the danger, think of it thinking like your/ wonderstorm broke heavy/ this time"%E2%80%94yet Brown eagerly engages with life's vastness, absurdity, and wonder. (Apr.)