Tremor – poems – Marisol Baca

poems, Marisol Baca
Three Mile Harbor Press, 2018

The first map she makes is on the skin of a cloudy
mushroom.” – {from} Dyad

If with a finger, a carved-out trembling, some bald youth points to a star from the shoulders of the historian moving them both forward, let what remains of repair glow as in the skeletal lambency of Marisol Baca’s Tremor. This is a carrying and lifting work that recovers the smell of an earth no dreaming keeps. That closes the gap between life and raft. Voice here is a bird approaching the inherited ghost feeder and verse a vision that sleeps in two good eyes. Vessel of the overheard and songmaker of the seen, Baca avoids retelling and gives story a place that allows return. Whether late to footstep or early to the husk of sickness, Tremor is a thing that leaves us for distance might we know, when beached, how softened we were for sea.


reflection by Barton Smock


book is here:

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