This is the sort of poetry that leans on prose—is direct, is conversational—but that is so imagistic, brazen, and obsessed with meaning that each word imprints itself on your very bones. I love this collection. Ruefle looks at the world with a wry, mature gaze, resulting in a work definitional and sometimes dark but also too beautiful to be entirely jaded. I had the uncomfortable impression that she was staring into my eyes and advising me, woman to woman, on how to live. —a.c.