"Stop me if you haven't heard this one."

I am trying to say/ the neighborhood is as tattered/ and feathered as anything else,/ as shadow pierced by sun/ and light parted/ by shadow-dance as anything else,/ but they won't stop saying/ how lovely the ruins,/ how ruined the lovely/ children must be/ in your birdless city.

"Miracle fruit changes the tongue. One bite,/ and for hours all you eat is sweet."

Nezhukumatathil's book opens with these very appropriate lines. Reading her poems about both tiny moments and big reflections on cultural heritage that are full of slippery, deliciously liquid imagery has spoiled me.