Maybe the Body

Drake’s cerebral, polyphonic debut explores the confines of assimilation and her ambivalent patriotism as a second-generation Filipina. Her heritage is first embodied in an untitled prose poem that begins, “In 1981, Tita Nena translates Whitman to make a primer for revolution. My mother has just left Quezon City,” and ends, “This is the part of me I must show everyone first.” The collection is immersed in family and generational inheritance—of trauma, but also of art, passion, joy, and celebration. A series titled “To Someone Who’s Heard I Love You Too Many Times” examines the role language plays in familial and romantic love, and how words might have divergent meanings or interpretations. Elsewhere, she writes about the realities of diasporic experience: “Desire, not curiosity/ charts my migration. I acquired a passport for the lover// because how long can I love anyone my mother has not met?” Drake is particularly excellent when writing about abundance and satiety: “I hear the thrum and wait/ in my hothouse for dinner// to line up petal to petal,/ plant fruit I’ve germinated// in my own mouth. Let the animal in.” These poems reverberate with an infectious joy, celebrating the revolutionary act of enduring day after day. (Feb.)