poem for the house

Poetry. Art. Doorframes and daily "cutting into" breathlessness are the architecture of Katie Yates's POEM FOR THE HOUSE. Lyric transport happens. Yates offers mustard balm, a humid room, her hand hesitating longer-than-necessary. These portals open and open then open again. Into what exactly? Human hearts. Unlawful lakes. Rest. Motion is choreographed with mental acuity and earnest generosity. This is a book to read to still oneself. This is a book to read to propel oneself. Yates offers a forgiving dock on which to anchor or launch. With tempered insistence, this poetry binds a child to her parents, a lover to another, danger to song. What accrues is an expansiveness that exceeds any room—a presence. A conference of birds. Hum along.