Victoria Chang

After her mother's death, Chang wrote deep into grief by composing "obits"--from her mother's blue dress to language itself.

Obit

Death is our common ancestor. It doesn’t care whom we have dined with.

second read—still as crystalline, still as startlingly honest

laetitia

Natalie

Wholly original and deeply personal poems, though sometimes its imagery feels too personal to be derived meaning from for anyone other than the poet herself. Still, speaking as someone who has not had much experience with earth-shattering grief, this collection was brilliant in its portrayal of an unfamiliar emotion.

雪 xue

“the way our sadness is plural, but grief is singular.”

jiaqi kang

Amy Grieve

Jen Estrella

To love anyone means to admit extinction. I tell myself this, so I never fall in love, so that the fire lights just me.

Obit

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