I read this twice, three times if you count the poems I copied down in my notes. (Half the book.) The Salon quote in the description compares Ryan’s poems to Fabergé eggs, but I say that does them a disservice. I say they’re real eggs. Perfect, and delicate, yet made of stronger stuff than you’d think; crack one open and you get new life chirping or a meal for your bones.
The Well or The Cup
How can
you tell
at the start
what you
can give away
and what
you must hold
to your heart.
What is
the well
and what is
the cup. Some
people get
drunk up.