Out of a toxic cloud, an abandoned mall, and a pile of decaying insulation, from shipwrecks, hazardous waste storage dumps, and glyphosate-saturated cornfields, emerges the indelible, intimate, shimmering lyricism of Bethany Schultz Hurst’s Blueprint and Ruin. I’m with her in her lonely freak-out as she wishes for a benevolent ghost to soothe her newborn, “Clearly, even someone/dead could be a better mother.” I’m with her as the blade of her wit offer up extravagant apologies: “I’m sorry I did not stop by the cornfields to watch the solstice pout its light/through those half-buried Buicks arranged to mimic Stonehenge.” I’m with her as she jams her face into the ridiculous spring flowers, as she listens for the bird-that-is-her-heart in her chest, hoping the “some/song is surely spilling out.” I’m with her, this “Queen of No Fun Anymore,” this Queen of the American Now.
-Diane Seuss
Available at SIR Press or SPD