by Aimee Walker

Poetry, Personal & Political

Reading the poems in Marge Piercy’s The Crooked Inheritance (Knopf, $24.00) is like walking into a room full of extended family. You may not really know or remember everyone, but you recognize the connections. However, despite the familiarity of the stories, there is always some secret gem hidden inside these poems. In “Buried,” she describes a concern with what is hidden under the snow: “All fallen—branches, / a tire, a red squirrel—buried together.” In the process of describing what is covered, she actually uncovers it for her readers—here, as elsewhere, revelation becomes her primary task as a poet.

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