I had thought that Sofia M. Starnes disguises her poetry as the bliss of ordinary life, but it’s no such thing. Hers is not poetry of self–delusion, hers is the poetry of the world being nasty right back, the nastiness seen or survived, and written. Hers is poetry of small detail and huge monstrosity, hers is the violence of life.
Here’s The House That Spoke, on her home page, from her book Fully Into Ashes:
I am bewildered by my fall,
how the ground rose between groans and good lips,
how it hummed when the tower homed,
fully into ashes.
And all I heard, whooshed between words,
was love you, love me.
I want to read more.