Something Akin To
poems, Kaleigh Maeby
Dink Press, 2019
If, beneath those who argue the font of absence, there is one under the table who, while dreamily reporting on the feast, renders a remix unmothered might it usher the original into being, then this one may be one of many reading or writing poet Kaleigh Maeby’s deceptively freeing collection Something Akin To. Odd, local, and sovereign, the work is a fragmentary gathering of thrice-lost things, to include the repetitive body, the faceless child, the knee of the ant. These entries as written are either memo or epitaph, and Maeby understands each as the separated twin of the love letter and adjusts accordingly the abrupt lullaby of the duo’s teased sleep. I believe in clear and close and sparse art such as this, as it leaves to the imagination the downfall of those children of Goliath who here and there struggle to straighten their gasmasks, and speaks its small stone.
reflection by Barton Smock
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