I really enjoyed delving into Schnackenber's poetry. I could just randomly open to a page and enjoy the rhythm of her words, and her stream of thought and imagery. This is a basically her first three books in one volume.

She manages to bind the physical and the spiritual together, that might be almost sacramental. The title poem starts off: My father at the dictionary-stand / Touches the page to full understand / the lamplit answer ... And then: ...following each X I awkward move my needle through the word whose root is love. She then manages to sew in Christ's passion with her own fumbling sewing, quite remarkable.

Other poems pay homage to Osip Mandelstam, Charles Darwin, and Andrea Mantegna. ( )