Rivers flow through the poems in Panepinto’s slim volume. They whisper of the Northwest, of young people who have jumped in, of silvery fish and poison in the water. In her first collection, the Spokane native writes with a deft lyricism and of a sense of place in poems like “river metallic as veins of saints”:
In every poem, Clark finds Panepinto’s words to be moving and knowing.
While sadness runs through Panepinto’s poems, joy and reflection surface in her conversations with crows and in her memories of people who have died. The title poem, a surreal ride on a dead teenager’s bicycle, carries her into a world filled with life. Even a simple bus ride transports the reader on a wave of words.
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