Passing Through Humansville by Karen Craigo

The poems in Passing Through Humansville are clean and strong, well-written and compelling. Many of the poems deal with domestic subjects (children, home) but Craigo makes the domestic universal. This book is able to render tender, sweet moments without being overly sentimental. It’s a lovely read. Buy here.

From “Ten Sources of Light”

There was a curve just / past, the one-lane / bridge, but we opted / not to take it, so the / boy’s car slid sideways / across a lawn. A better / poet would know the / type of tree that caved / in her door, but this / one remembers two / things: there was a / tree where I’d been / sitting, and the car was / not on fire—it was only / the light from the / dashboard glowing red / after I’d scrambled / into the lap of the boy. / The last thing I’d said / was that I wasn’t / scared, and I’m still / not. I’ve always had a / fondness for trees.

From “Meditation With Cat and Toddler”

And here I sit with a body reluctant / to bend, a brain that won’t still, a cat / that bumps me for attention, and a toddler / who will come, who has punched / me in the eye for pure love.

From “God’s Wife”

You were wrong / about the curse. No one / loves the Earth like / the serpent, each moment / the glory of embrace. / To slip inside and out again, / every muscle touching / those walls: this / is a blessing.