I Think About My Mother Every Day.

For Sure, The Funeral Industry Seems Intensely Cynical To Me And I Don't Think It Is Helping People Mourn.

Grief Is A Bad Moon, A Sleeper Wave. It's Like Having An Inner Combatant, A Saboteur Who, At The Slightest Change In The Sunlight, Or At The First Notes Of A Jingle For A Dog Food Commercial, Will Flick The Memory Switch, Bringing Tears To Your Eyes.

What Had Happened Still Seemed Implausible. A Person Was Present Your Entire Life, And Then One Day She Disappeared And Never Came Back. It Resisted Belief.

Loss Is So Paradoxical: It Is At Once Enormous And Tiny.

With Ferocity And Extraordinary Craft, Lizzie Harris Has Made A Book Of Poems That Resonates Far Beyond The Personal Stories It Tells. Stop Wanting Reveals, In Every Lyric, Its Author's Profound Metaphorical Gifts. In Its Ironies And Intensities, It Brings To Mind A Writer Like The Young Sylvia Plath, Though What Is Startling About Harris' S Work Is The Way It Combines Those Gifts With A Muted, Deft Self-awareness. Most Of All, These Are Wonderfully Shaped, Powerful, And Surprising Poems-a Startling Debut.