that all these little rituals were only letting the mourning swallow me whole.
Traditions
For Spite and Rosemary reads like a drafted confession, a maze map in progress, an attempt in isolation to map one’s own heart. In this poetry collection Bridgette Valentine scratches out the why of her longing, bumps up to a hard truth, flags it, and turns the page over then does it again. We are patience and white page, a lover invested, taking our own notes as she leads the way.” DRIVE
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