Months at a Time

This is the third collection of poems by Kim Barke. What do you do with the beat that won't stop? With a body that absorbs everything — sound, syntax, sodium, sorrow? With the hum of Alexa, the memory of egg-darts, the echo of a father asking: Why do you speak English? In these poems, the breath gets measured. So does love. So does anger, precision, gendered language, paper cuts, and grief.

Months at a Time documents the blur — the repetitive dailiness of quarantine, yes — but also the electric flicker of wanting, the minor chords of caretaking, the weight of beauty when you don't have time to carry it. This is a book written in the margins of everything else. It smells like vinegar and wind and damp paper. It listens hard. It laughs. It refuses. It stretches, sings, paces, and prays. You are invited in. Take off your shoes. There's a poem waiting in the corner with something to say.