The Miraculous, Sometimes

Divided into five sections, Shevenock’s contemplative debut is a hybrid of poetry and prose pieces that beautifully combines memory, desire, and trauma. Throughout, Shevenock unearths correlative images that speak to the book’s primary concerns: “When [desperate], Exhibit A: plastic shopping bag trapped in the branches of a tree, inflates and deflates with every gust. Lung of the universe, in pure garbage.// The miraculous, sometimes.” Original descriptions also portray the relevance and experience of memory: “Each visit to the house made my narrative more precise, like beads passed along a needle, threading me to the moment at the kitchen sink, my body blurred into a girl on any day, doing the dishes, even as soot blackened the porcelain basin.” Other lyrics are more elegiac, as the speaker wishes increasingly for a child: “Want is a circle with no relief. So I nurse nothing, unless I nurse myself into silence—.” With stirring, visually rich juxtapositions and subtle insight, this book announces Shevenock as a notable voice. (Mar.)