When My Brother was an Aztec

“A tongue will wrestle its mouth to death and lose— / language is a cemetery.” & “This is no garden. This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.”

maximalist, stunning

I can't recommend this collection enough. Imagery that will gut you and a seamless mix of traditions and mythologies, taking on the issues of family, identity, history, and suffering from the inside and not just as a spectator. "Why I hate raisins" is a better love poem than most that would call themselves that.