Category: Books

Interview with Patrick Joseph Caoile, Author of Tales from Manila Ave.

Cover of the book Tales from Manila Ave. The cover image shows a colorful line of people holding hands in a line, with some other abstract images.

Patrick Joseph Caoile spoke with Sundress intern Penny Wei about his latest short story collection Tales from Manila Ave., where they discussed the importance of food, play as a way to navigate migration and displacement, and living on Manila Ave. and places like it.

Penny Wei: What does it mean to belong to a place like Manila Ave, where generational history and familial warmth live alongside eviction and social class divides?

Patrick Joseph Caoile: There’s a line from one of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies that Freddy Krueger says, “Every town has an Elm Street!”, which seems to hold true. I even make a reference to this in one of my stories. In the case of Elm Street, the idea that a place is inescapable sounds like a prison. But that’s not all what a sense of place can be. For me, it’s comforting that you can find a Manila Ave. in places like Queens or Jersey City. When I lived in Lafayette, Louisiana, there was one there, too. Of course, not every Manila Ave. will have the equivalent of a strong Filipino community. Still, the name implicitly gestures towards the Philippines, and with it so many associations. With its global history as a gateway between the East and the West, the capital city of Manila is an avenue in and of itself. Manila is a metropolis of culture and commerce, but also of extreme class divide between squatters and shopping malls. In cities in the US, gentrification continues to displace those who can no longer afford to live in neighborhoods where their families have flourished for years prior. And yet, people continue to eat, dance, celebrate, mourn, and tell stories. This is how I envision Manila Ave.: a container of all these contradictions—a push and a pull, a home away from home.

PW: In several stories, food serves an important role. How do you see food operating as a bridge between cultures, identities, and memories?

PJC: I find importance not just in food, but in the making of it. When I think of Filipino food, I think of how laborious it is to make. In “Along Came a Stray” the siblings decide to roll lumpia for their Christmas dinner, just as they did when they were younger. They try to hold on to a tradition that they learned from their parents. Lumpia is a very tactile dish, a lot of chopping, mixing, wrapping. And after it’s fried and cooled, you pick one up with your fingers, dip it into some sweet chili sauce, and enjoy it. But it’s worth it. Not just the taste, but the experience. A recipe is a story, right? Beginning, middle, end. So, when I write food into a story, I find it intuitive to bring characters, backstory, and theme together. “Sinigang” definitely synthesizes those goals for me, too.

Even something as simple as coffee speaks to the wider implications of food. Coffee beans need to grow in a specific climate, be cultivated, be farmed, and be harvested. It takes a lot of labor to produce a cup of coffee. There’s also its history as a product of colonization. Alongside its dispersion is a story of displacement. On the other hand, as a beverage of leisure, you’ll find people connecting over coffee—business meetings, dates, catching up with friends, revolutions. Writers, like me, can’t write a single word without it. A lot of stories have been told over coffee. In “Kapé,” I sought to write towards these implications.

Also, I just like to eat and cook. Every writer needs sustenance. I’m a product of a childhood that was shaped by shows on PBS like Yan Can Cook and America’s Test Kitchen and Food Network, where people, food, and stories coexisted. Now, I love The Bear. I wanted to be a chef when I grew up. Maybe I still do.

PW: Catholicism, superstition, and faith run through these stories in different ways. What role does religion play in shaping the Filipino immigrant experience?

PJC: Just as food brings people together, so does religion. It’s all part of custom, like the house blessing in “A State of Grace,” the wedding in “Tong, Tong, Tong,” and the funeral in “A Balikbayan Affair.” These occasions bring together titos, titas, cousins, cousins of cousins, and anyone else who might have entered the celebrants’ lives in some way, big or small. Even the idea of being blessed by an elder, the mano po that is mentioned in “Tales from Manila Ave.,” is tied up in Catholicism. But as much as these customs celebrate grace, there are also aspects of Filipino faith that have a darker edge. Pagpag, for example, is the practice of making a tertiary stop between the site of a funeral and going back home; this way, any lingering or unsettled ghosts won’t follow. I don’t explicitly reference pagpag in “A Balikbayan Affair,” but that’s part of the reason why the family is at a truck stop saloon after the funeral. There are some stories in this collection in which I dip a toe into horror or the Gothic, and I’m definitely going to explore ways to lean into these in the future. In fact, the title Tales from Manila Ave. echoes the title of Nick Joaquin’s Tales of the Tropical Gothic, which is no accident.

PW: Some of your stories sit at the edge of childhood. How do you see childhood as a lens for reckoning with larger forces of war, dictatorship, and displacement?

PJC: I think a lot about a quote from James Baldwin, “The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.” This has been on my mind for the past few years because of the war and genocide in Palestine, as well as the immigration raids here in the US. Whether it’s a family’s displacement from the land, or their displacement from each other, children are a witness through all of it, and so are we. Baldwin adds, “What we see in the children is what they have seen in us—or, more accurately perhaps, what they see in us.”

When I wrote these stories, I tried to center children as witnesses in some way: as communal narrators memorializing a storyteller, as sisters adjusting to an American suburb, as children trying to prevent their parents’ divorce. But even when stories take a more adult perspective, the children are always in sight, such as the widowed mother looking at her sons in the final scene of “A Balikbayan Affair,” or the first-generation Filipino American protagonists of the last two stories who are now ushering in the next generation. I think it’s important, as a worldview, to consider what it means to be a child living in an empire, where the political is always personal. Of course, Star Wars comes to mind, Avatar: The Last Airbender, too. But Scout Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird was certainly an influence in my writing, specifically as a child witnessing the changes around her, which are simultaneously political and personal.

I immigrated to the US when I was four years old. A lot of the logistics and paperwork happened behind closed doors where my parents carried the weight and anxiety of it all. I know that isn’t the same for every immigrant family. Some children need to translate for their parents, for example. But in these stories, I sought to fill in the gaps of the Filipino American immigrant story. I imagined the space between the world of children and the world of adults full of conflict, tension, and misunderstandings but also of love, hope, and connection. Children often don’t get a say in things. If they did, what would they tell us?

PW: Animals appear throughout the book. What does it mean for the nonhuman to accompany the immigrant story?

PJC: There are definitely a lot of cats in this book, prominently in “The House at the End of Maplewood Drive” and “Along Came a Stray.” In my family, we weren’t allowed to have pets growing up, except for the occasional fish or small turtle in a small tank. We had guinea pigs once, but didn’t bring them along when we moved from California to New Jersey. Only recently, just this past July, did I get my own cat, Clark Kafka “Cafecito” Kent. So, part of working cats into my stories is admittedly wish fulfillment. Usually, in that mythical notion of the American Dream, there’s a dog accompanying the mom, dad, son, and daughter. Dogs are “man’s best friend.” On the other hand, cats get a bad rep, tied up with witches and bad luck superstitions. But cats are so full of personality and also so full of care: the way a mama cat will pick up one kitten after the other to bring them to a safe place, the way she bathes them and gives them attention. The idea of bonded pairs and belonging to a litter—there’s a lot of familial connotations, like the struggle of staying together as a family. We can learn a lot from cats. Just ask T. S. Eliot and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

PW: In “Everything Must Stay” objects refuse to be discarded, even as they choke the living space. How do we measure the value of a life, or the significance/impact of a migration, with the things we keep?

PJC: The store in “Everything Must Stay” is a sari-sari, which means “miscellaneous” or “variety.” I think that meaning captures the immigrant experience in many ways. Immigrants carry a lot of baggage, literal and metaphorical. Sometimes space is limited, so what we choose to take with us must hold some kind of significance in comparison to other things. One example is the Santo Niño statue that Grace and her mother bring to their new apartment in “A State of Grace.” A toothbrush or laundry detergent—those simpler things can easily be found in a sari-sari store. At the same time, things can take on a new or second life. In the tradition of sending a balikbayan box to family in the Philippines, secondhand clothes or shelf-stable foods like canned Vienna sausages or chocolates become totems of our connection back to the motherland, back to the people we still hold dear despite the geographical distance. Objects are gifts, objects are resources. In “Everything Must Stay,” the sari-sari not only holds snacks and beauty products, but also holds the Filipino community together, and ultimately keeps the family at its center together.

PW: Childhood games—rice kites, Halloween nights, street songs—recur throughout the collection. What does it mean to return to play as a way of surviving displacement? How does childhood in general serve as a lens for exploring war?

PJC: I remember when I was just entering the first grade, when my family had just moved to New Jersey, I made friends with classmates by coming up with some really weird lore about our school. We gathered around someone’s desk, claiming that we had each seen a weird, glowing green light outside the school at night. As if we all went out of our homes, one by one, when everyone was asleep. We confirmed each other’s accounts, even drawing out a map of the school and labeling the tree where the green light was spotted. We probably could’ve passed a lie detector test; we were so convinced of ourselves. But of course, none of it was real (or was it?). I don’t know if anyone else from that class remembers, but that memory has stuck with me. As the new kid in the class, I felt welcomed by my classmates.

Play is unifying in that way—play as creative instead of competitive. Like I mentioned before, seeing the world through the eyes of children is ingrained in my approach to storytelling. Writing is play. We pretend as our characters and imagine what their lives must be like, and our task is to convince everyone else that they are true. The power of storytelling is that it centers on people, not statistics. It cuts through paperwork, bureaucracy, technicalities—that stuff of the adult world. Some might consider that escapism. At least for me, writing embraces the truth of our world. Or like how Kuya Jem does in “Tales from Manila Ave.,” it bends the truth towards magic.

PW: Several of the stories highlight women as laborers—nannies, nurses, domestic workers. Can you speak to the tension between Filipino women sustaining homes across two countries while rarely being recognized in either?

PJC: The Philippines has matriarchal roots. Despite the patriarchal structures introduced by colonization and imperialism, those roots still bloom. For example, there have been two women who’ve held office as president of the Philippines. Even through Catholicism, women seem to be the center of local religious life, leading community prayers and the rosary. They are also great storytellers in their own right; tsismis is indeed a craft. In this way, I think Filipino women might be most attuned to what it means to be Filipino. To sustain that across two countries is no easy task. It takes a lot of labor, in more ways than one. Many become Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) in the healthcare and hospitality industries, and others as domestic workers. Many are teachers, too, like my own mother, who is a special education teacher. In all these fields and professions, there’s a necessary and intuitive sense of care. Mia Alvar captures a lot of these sentiments in her stories from In the Country, and I am so very grateful for her kind words of support for my book. Like in her stories, I similarly sought to capture the tension between Filipino women’s professional and personal lives.

PW: How does Tales from Manila Ave. as a whole explore survival across borders and generations?

PJC: I don’t think I ever considered the theme of survival in my book. But surely it’s there. I recently came across the story “Target Island” by Mariah Rigg, and in an interview with The Common, she considers how “the short story is just like a really long obituary.” When talking about Rigg’s story with my fiction students, which is about a man’s long and harrowing life intertwined with the island of Kahoʻolawe, we noted how obituaries usually end with a list of living family members, the “survived by.” In some ways, I think it’s helpful to think of short stories as obituaries.

The dedication of Tales from Manila Ave. certainly presents this book as one: to my family and relatives “in this world and the next.” In 2023 I had lost my paternal grandmother, and in the following year, 2024, I lost my maternal grandmother. We grew up mostly away from them, but whenever my siblings and I visited them in the Philippines, they were always so happy and proud of us. The last time we had seen them in person was in 2019. Their passing was a bit of a realization that my connection to the motherland was fading. Grief is always built into the immigrant story in that way. The characters in my stories get to that realization, too. I can list all the ways my characters mourn and grieve, but I would practically be listing every one of them in my stories. They grieve their parents, spouses, and siblings. They grieve a life of what-could-have-been if they had never left the Philippines at all. They are the “survived by” who have to figure out how to live with what’s left of their loved ones: customs, traditions, faith, memories, secrets, recipes, and ultimately themselves.

Tales from Manila Ave. is available now from Sundress Publications!

Photo of Patrick Joseph Caoile, author of Tales from Manila Ave.

Patrick Joseph Caoile was born in the Philippines and grew up in northern New Jersey. His work is featured in storySouth, Porter House Review, Bright Flash Literary Review, the anthology Growing Up Filipino 3, and elsewhere. He has received support from Roots.Wounds.Words and Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. He holds a BA in English from Saint Peter’s University, MA in English from Seton Hall University, and PhD in English with a creative writing concentration from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. He is a visiting assistant professor of literature and creative writing at Hamilton College.

Penny Wei is from Shanghai and Massachusetts. She has been recognized by the Longfellow House, Cafe Muse, and Just Poetry, amongst others. Her works are up or forthcoming on Eunoia Review, Inflectionist Review, Dialogist, Aloka, and elsewhere.

Sundress Editorial Intern Penny Wei

Sundress Reads: Review of
The Watch: Time to Witness the Beauty of It All

Sundress Reads logo, which shows a sheep reading, with glasses on and a book. Logo is black and white.
Cover of the book The Watch, showing a clock in clouds

An introspective memoir about loss and life, The Watch: Time to Witness the Beauty of It All (Wildhouse Publications, 2025) by Paula Sager is a healing walk through the process of being present while a loved one passes away. The Watch is part diary and part philosophy, the author using her strong mind-body connection as a teacher of the Alexander Technique to feel her way through what her soul is undergoing. Collecting many quotes from various authors, philosophers, and family members, Paula Sager offers that our emotions can be processed through the Discipline of Authentic Movement, and that it’s possible to stay mentally present even in the most difficult of times. Trigger warning: If you’ve had a loved one pass away or expect someone to pass soon, this can be a healing, but also at times difficult read. Please give yourself time and private space to process thoughts and emotions while paddling through this book.

While reading The Watch, I felt like I traveled back in time to when my grandparents were completing their life cycles, only this time, I felt more present in my memories. If you’ve had a loved one die slowly of cancer or other medical issues, this book will deeply resonate with you. Sager’s writing captures daily life, the little and big tasks that continue to need doing, while also showing how she stays present and tries to enjoy every moment she can before there are no more moments. One quote from Sager’s father, Bob, continues to float in my mind:

  “These are the waves of yesterday’s wind.” (Sager 53)

This small sentence encapsulates what it feels like after realizing that someone you’re close to has little time left. You’re propelled forward by the waves from yesterday’s wind that blew your life onto a new path that will soon depart from the path of your loved one. Dwelling on the circle of life and her family members that are still in the beginning or middle of the life cycle helps Sager through the process. She writes of her brothers and her children, as well as how their pasts and futures seem to mirror not only her own, but her passing father’s. The watch, which began mysteriously falling apart after Sager’s father died, appears recurrently as a reminder of time, both precious and fleeting. When Sager trades watches with her father, it’s as if she’s giving him the best gift she can: more time with her and love.

Despite life’s limitations, a sense of calmness and acceptance imbues the book. The way Sager bares her raw emotions for the reader and conveys a calmness is rather wonderous. Some of her conversations with her father are true gems. For example, Sager’s father Bob says at one point, still a bit hazy from anesthesia:

  “I want to tell you about something I dreamed … First there was the dream of death
   … And it was fine! … And then there was the dream of birth—and it was spectacular!
   … They really have it figured out. It all makes sense, and there is nothing to worry
   about.” (Sager 65)

It’s hard to accept death, even though we know it’s coming. The most amazing takeaway for me personally from The Watch is a new sense that I might finally be able to let go of fear of the unknown. Somehow, through reading about Sager’s life, her peaceful moments, her father’s insights, she has talked me free of fear of the unknown. One of her and her family’s extraordinary abilities seems to be to take life in stride. Although there are certainly tough time periods, overall, Sager enjoys the last moments with her father and calmly accepts her experiences, letting fear depart as well.

Kayaking Watercolor by Everly Arts, showing a kayaker paddling on the water towards a sunset between two mountains
Kayaking Watercolor by Everly Arts

Sager’s father loved to kayak, and the family ultimately return him to the water he loved in a unique kayak flotilla funeral. This poem Sager quotes is quite fitting:

“Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:
I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:
Wave of sorrow,
Take me there.”
(Sager 51, quoting “Island” by Langston Hughes)

Sager takes readers there, showing us the beauty of our lives that remain after loss and the love of memories we will have forever. She also touches on some intriguing supernatural experiences she has had surrounding her father and his passing period, such as feeling pain at the same time as him, a swan flying up to the family that seems to embody some presence of her father’s, the watch falling apart after he died, and unusual mind-body connections she experiences through Janet Adler’s Discipline of Authentic Movement.

I recommend this book for readers that are of the “middle generation,” that have both children as well as parents in their lives. I would also like to recommend the following tea pairing with this book: Tulsi & Ginger Tea from Traditional Medicinals. This tea provides calming stress relief and warming ginger to heal your body and soul.

The Watch: Time to Witness the Beauty of It All is available from Wildhouse Publications

Ana Mourant sitting on grass reading a book. She has light skin and blonde hair, has a sunflower in her hair, and is wearing a green sundress.

Ana Mourant (she/her) is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, edits, and proofreads, as well as provides authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.

Project Book: Lizzy DiGrande

Bookshelves are like a vast walk-in closet, a limitless wardrobe, teeming with cotton t-shirts, vibrant knit scarves, pressed tuxedos, and polyester pajamas. And depending on your mood, a good book should slip over your skin like delicate silk. But like many things that have the power to remove us from reality, books, particularly those that find solace on our shelves, can be sacred.

For me, sometimes this ethereal closet, my books, can feel so sacred that they’re nearly untouchable. They sit on my black, wooden shelf collecting dust, like expensive jewelry locked up in a glass case.

This feeling of not being able to read the books on my shelf does not stop me, however, from buying more books. I buy them nearly everywhere I go. I can barely fit more on the shelf if I try. But like the others, each new novel watches as I continuously glance past them, choosing instead to check out book after book from the public library. And so, in a sense, the entire world has become my metaphorical bookshelf. Well, at least as far as my library card can take me.

Regardless, from my physical and metaphorical bookshelf, here are some stories that have changed my life, and should be added to your wardrobe immediately.

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett: This book made me yearn for a summer love I never lost. It’s the first piece of “COVID lit” (as in, a book that takes place during the COVID-19 pandemic) that I thoroughly enjoyed, as I often feel that novels centering this period can be redundant. The book is set on a cherry farm in rural Michigan in the summer of 2020, where we are introduced to Lara, a mother of three teenage/adult-ish girls. Throughout the story, the girls beg their mother to recount her summer, many decades ago, when she worked as an actress at a community theatre company called Tom Lake. It was there, in the throes of her youth and ambition, that she fell in love with a witty yet troubled future movie star, who eventually met an untimely death. While I don’t say this lightly, this book was close to perfection and the essential summer read. Patchett is known for her lyrical writing, and this novel is no exception. She was able to effortlessly move back and forth in time while making me feel deeply connected to each character, whether they were a protagonist or a simple guest on the page. Patchett mastered the essence that beauty and suffering can coexist, and through hardships come generational wisdom and quiet strength. There’s a reason this lovely, floral book cover is often on display in bookstore windows; it’s worth picking up.

We Ride Upon Sticks by Quan Barry: Was one of your childhood fixations the Salem Witch Trials of 1692? This novel, set in 1989 Danvers, Massachusetts—the town adjacent to Salem—follows a group of high school seniors with ambitions of winning their school’s first-ever field hockey championship. When a summer training camp accidentally invites in some dark magic, it soon takes over the entire team. Laced with the town’s spooky history and tales of modern femininity, this story’s omniscient narrator takes the reader through a school year full of teenage angst, sacrificial offerings, and high school sports. All elements that make for an enticing read. As a Boston resident, I found this book’s connection to real history to be addictive, presenting a new spin on the historical fiction genre. Though surprisingly dense with lots of required attention to detail, Barry perfected the complexities in the pursuit of perfection at any cost, especially in girlhood. This story is especially perfect as we approach the autumnal months.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood: How can I call myself a global citizen and publishing enthusiast without having this masterpiece on my bookshelf? This dystopian novel has found its home on the New York Times bestseller list for decades, and rightfully so. It follows a character named Offred, one of thousands of women who have had their rights stripped away and forced into reproductive servitude in a totalitarian theocracy. Atwood is one of the most impactful authors of our time, and each word in this book is extremely intentional. A prominent reason why this book will always find a home on my shelf is not only because it’s a banned book, but it is one of the best examples of how literature and publishing can be an act of resistance against injustice. There is power in education, the written word, and writing our greatest fears on the page. Don’t let this book be only a classic that you were forced to read in high school English class. It deserves so much more.

Come & Get It by Kiley Reid: This story, Kiley Reid’s second novel, released in 2024, is the true definition of women-centered fiction. Spanning several points of view, the book centers on three main characters at the University of Arkansas (hence the large pig on the front cover): Millie, an RA; Agatha Paul, a visiting writing professor; and Kennedy, a new transfer student with a complex past having trouble fitting in on campus. This novel tackled complex topics like gender and sexual orientation exploration, feelings of despair and loneliness, heartbreak, and more. How Reid explores each character inside and out makes her writing something to behold. While reading it, there were several “I never knew other people thought or experienced this” moments for me, which is my mark of an impactful book. As many writers know, by writing the specific, this book is totally universal, and a worthwhile read for all ages.

The Wedding People by Alison Espach: With recognizable cover art and a place on at least one celebrity book club’s list, I was expecting this recent summer read to fall flat for me, as several other overly hyped popular fiction books tend to me. But I was gladly mistaken. After a particularly horrible day, after a series of particularly horrible months, Phoebe Stone jets off to the scenic and charming town of Newport, Rhode Island, intending to end her life. However, when she discovers that her hotel is hosting the million-dollar wedding of a particularly outspoken bride, she is unexpectedly swept into the extravagant week-long preparation and activities. Interspersed with elements of romance, this book explores identity and learning how to love yourself and the world all over again. Like an addictive TV drama, this was a story I did not want to end. I adored how the main character, Phoebe, was so flawed and raw; it made her relatable and lovable all the same. The power of setting is shown through, almost as if Newport were completely its own character, which added to the holistic nature of the story. My only warning: this book may make you yearn for a completely unrealistic and unaffordable wedding in Rhode Island. Read at your own risk!

So, while it’s true that I read more books with a library barcode laminated across the cover than those I’ve spent $28.99 on, it doesn’t make my physical bookshelf any less sacred to me. In the corner of my room, it sits like a hand-painted mural; it’s my muse when I think about my career in publishing, a breath of relief when I need to be grounded. And these five stories are permanent staples in my “closet.”

Elizabeth “Lizzy” DiGrande is a graduate student in Emerson College’s Publishing and Writing program, where she also serves as a Transformational Leaders Fellow and Writing Assistant for the Emerson Grad Life Blog. She is on the board of the Women’s National Book Association, Boston chapter, and is passionate about amplifying women’s voices in publishing. Originally from New Jersey, she now resides in Boston and can often be found perusing the city’s public libraries or exploring new restaurants. She hopes to build a career as both a food writer and literary agent championing female-identifying authors.

Sundress Reads: Review of At the Window, Silence

Sundress Reads logo, which shows a sheep reading, with glasses on and a book. Logo is black and white.
Cover of book "At the Window, Silence." Cover image shows a dainty plant in autumn or late summer.

Part modern and part reminiscent of Romantic era poetry, At the Window, Silence (Fernwood Press, 2025) by Kenneth Pobo elicits the reader’s emotional side through combining commonly identifiable experiences with arresting phrases. The first half of the collection, titled “Inside,” traipses through a wide variety of topics, from family to religion and beauty, while the second half, titled “Outside,” homes in on the garden and plants, often using them to explore philosophy and self-reflection. Gardeners will enjoy the specific plant references, both the lovely, wanted chosen and the horrid, unwanted weeds. You might be taken by surprise, as I was, to find Pobo’s words and stories grip your heart and squeeze tears out.

Although “Inside” spans diverse themes, the stories, and often frank method of telling them, keeps the reader intrigued. My favorite poem from this section, “Marriage and Canned Peaches,” transports the reader into the exact scenario of the story, mentally and emotionally. Many of us have experienced being in a long-term, and rather sad, relationship. Pobo really captures the hopeless despair when he writes:

  “We sit on opposite sides
   of her sad eyes, then talk of work,

   the moon trapped like a key
   that broke in a lock.” (Pobo 18)

Other poems have a touch of humor, like the set that explores the sin of Adam and Eve and asks, “Why do our kids never ask / about our pasts?” (Pobo 39). This set needs basic biblical familiarity to appreciate, but both Christians and non-Christians alike will identify with the questions and points. Pobo points out that sometimes God can be harsh: “One mistake and you’re out” of the garden of Eden (Pobo 39). Pobo advocates for mercy, saying that everyone makes mistakes, and maybe we should “get some fireproof tongs” to pull out those sent to Hell for just one mistake (Pobo 41).

Just as abruptly as Adam and Eve were thrown out of the garden, we leave the myriad collection of “Inside” behind and step into “Outside,” the more focused and fine-tuned part of the book. With Romantic-type connections between nature and emotions, Pobo uses different plant species to study aspects of his own history and self. Everyone will find something emotionally pretty outside: dreams, fragility, and surprising loves.

The piece that gleams most brightly for me in At the Window, Silence is “Blue Himalayan Poppy,” in which the blue poppy represents something you want, but really won’t work with your current life, yet you illogically avow to possess anyway. Pobo orders his precious blue poppy, despite not being in the right climate for it. There are some things we can change about our lives and some things we can’t. Since he cannot move to the paradise of the Pacific Northwest where both himself and the blue poppy would flourish, Pobo proclaims he will help it thrive nonetheless in sweaty Pennsylvania, and “Blue petal waves / will find our yard’s shoreline, / break and break all spring long” (Pobo 61). Pobo makes the best of his life on the East Coast, filling his garden with his dreams.

Not all plants are things of beauty like the blue poppy, and our days are often filled with weeds that need pulling up. Another poem very relevant to our modern lives is “Weeding Borders,” which discusses the topic of boundary setting. Pobo points out that even if we plant strong borders with those we love, those borders start to grow weeds and will eventually disappear without maintenance. It takes effort to keep gardening what we want to grow, and to keep even our most beloved inside their borders. In simple, relatable language, Pobo says:

  “Tonight

   I’m going to sit by Stan
   and not talk about work,
   neaten the border, make it
   possible for beauty, slowly,
   to come into blossom.” (Pobo 63)

Throughout this collection, one recurring idea is that although “to err is human,” as Alexander Pope has said, we must keep trying. Weeds will try to grow, and we must continue to pluck them out. Work will try to invade our personal lives, and we must set boundaries with our time. Loved ones might try to make unfair demands, and we must balance our own needs. Pobo communicates that we should approach mistakes with understanding and forgiveness. We’ve all regretted some action, and Pobo reminds us it’s just a part of our humanity. In this book, even Adam forgives Eve, saying he might have done the same, if the snake had found him first, and

  “Maybe Judas, freed,
   will email Jesus and say,
   Hey, I goofed. Sorry.” (Pobo 41)

And that’s all that’s needed.

At the Window, Silence offers everyday loveliness and mercy for everyone, and I recommend it for most adult readers. Home gardeners will especially appreciate the “Outside” poems. This collection is best enjoyed either in private or with close friends, in case it sparks strong emotion, and is best read in your own backyard. I would also like to recommend the following tea pairing with this book: Garden Therapy Herbal Tea. This tea combines familiar and soothing herbs with a touch of special verbena, allowing you to relax in a quietly fresh garden scent while reading from either side of your window.

At the Window, Silence is available from Fernwood Press

Ana Mourant sitting on grass reading a book. She has light skin and blonde hair, has a sunflower in her hair, and is wearing a green sundress.

Ana Mourant (she/her) is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, edits, and proofreads, as well as provides authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.

Project Bookshelf: Ana Mourant, Nature Writing & Indigenous Peoples

A medium-sized wooden bookshelf with books neatly upright between two owl and petrified wood bookends, and sunflowers decoratively arranged on top of the books. The books are a combination of nature writing and Indigenous Peoples books. In the background is a window with trees.

When someone asks where I’m from, sometimes I say “the mountains,” both because it’s true and because it’s fun to see people’s reactions. After all, why should we identify with a political state rather than an environment? Many times I’ve felt that I have more in common with someone who also grew up in wild places, whether in Alaska (like me) or in Africa, rather than someone who grew up in an urban setting. The natural environment we’re raised in, or the lack of one, affects us more than changing politics and monetary systems.

I’m sharing some book recommendations on nature writing and Indigenous Peoples today, for those of you that desire to immerse yourself in nature, even for just an hour. Take a mental break from urban life and pick up one of these unique reads. I’m presenting this bookshelf in three sections: nature writing, Indigenous Peoples, and nature-themed poetry. I’ve also selected one book to be the special feature of this collection. Feel free to skip to your section of interest, or dare to be tempted to read them all. Each book listed here is selected for its distinct content. Some are famous in their genre, and some are obscure treasures. For an immersive experience, read these outside in nature, at a local park, or even just by your window. I will give some immersive reading location ideas for each book below, tips on whether the physical book or e-book is recommended, and a suggested tea pairing for each. Enjoy.

Nature Writing Book Recommendations
A medium-sized stack of nature writing-themed books, with sunflower blossoms resting on top.

From top to bottom:

The book How to Read Water lying open to a page showing some text and some glossy photographs of water.

Tristan Gooley, a.k.a. The Natural Navigator, is one of my top three favorite authors. This book is exactly what the title says: It literally teaches you how to read water. Learn what different types of waves mean, how to forecast weather, and how even the reflection of light can reveal what’s beneath. From humble puddles to rivers to the big, open ocean, everything is discussed here in lovely prose. This book works well in both print and digital editions. Note that the hardcover edition pictured here does have a few glossy pictures inside. His other books are wonderful as well and can be found on The Natural Navigator website.

Best Places to Read: On the ocean, by a lake, or near a river. Imagine you’re out in the Atlantic, sailing from the UK to Iceland.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Beach Reads by Chapters Tea

A package of Beach Reads tea, which has a picture of beach chairs on a beach with palm trees
The book Mountains of the Mind, propped open facing down, so that the book looks reminiscent of a mountain

Few authors have the ability to draw huge in-person crowds like Robert Macfarlane. Now practically a celebrity in the nature writing genre, he got his start with this book: Mountains of the Mind. Just as I like to say I’m “from the mountains,” Macfarlane writes about his own “forays into wild, high landscapes,” and combines those with a fascinating history of mountains’ impact on the human psyche. This book works well in the e-book edition so it can be easily transported and read outside, if you’re not married to paper versions in general. It has some black and white photographs that view fine in the e-book as well. All his books are treasures, and I detail two more of them below. Note that Macfarlane doesn’t have his own website, but a quick google will bring up all his books, which have been published by a variety of different publishers.

Best Places to Read: On or near mountains, or with mountains in your distant view. Imagine you’re in the Cascades of America’s Pacific Northwest.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Spice Chai Mélange by Chapters Tea

A package of Spice Chai Mélange tea, which has a picture of mountains on the package
A black and white drawing of a holloway: a tunnel made of trees

If you’re in the mood for something mysterious with perhaps a bit of Gothic vibe, Robert Macfarlane will take you through the deep holloways (a “hollow-way” is a tunnel formed by trees and erosion) of England, formed over centuries and millennia, some dating as far back as the Iron Age. This is a quick read that includes some shadowy poetry and swarthy black-and-white pictures, which look just as spooky in the e-book as the hardcover.

Best places to read: The forest, the subway, or a cemetery. Imagine you’re deep among unknown, small roads in some backwoods of England.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Ancient Forest Tea by Mountain Rose

A tin of Ancient Forest Tea
The hardcover book Is a River Alive? without the book jacket, showing the shiny illustration of a river on the cover that is reminiscent of a blood vein

I have a signed copy of this one—Robert Macfarlane’s latest release—that I scored after getting to meet him at his packed book release event in Seattle last month. There must have been several hundred people there. It seemed like half of Seattle poured in to get their signed copy and meet one of our planet’s most-revered nature writers. Macfarlane was just awarded the 2025 Thoreau Prize for Literary Excellence in Nature Writing last month as well. Starting with an introduction titled “Anima,” Macfarlane takes the reader on a journey of both philosophy and travel, profiling rivers in Ecuador, India, and Canada, and exploring their souls and fates. Although I’m proud to own this special signed hardcover edition, the e-book of this is also just fine. Stay tuned for future titles by Robert Macfarlane as well. I’m convinced anything he writes will be outstanding.

Best Places to Read: By or on a river, or with a river in view. Imagine you’re floating along the Mississippi river, streaming through time as well as space.

Recommended Tea Pairing: In the Flow Tea by Fresh Pickins

A package of In the Flow Tea, which has a label in blue stripes

Imagine setting off on an epic backpacking trip, bringing artists’ supplies, and stopping at whim to paint interesting tiny things you see along the way … That’s exactly what author Rosalie Haizlett did, and the result is this lovely book. She strikes an amazing balance of creating a book that has bright appeal to both adults and children, comprised of research, personal trip notes, and charming watercolor illustrations. This is one book you really want the hardcover edition of, and currently it’s only sold as such.

Best Places to Read: Somewhere out in nature near an ecosystem boundary, where there are mountains as well as lowlands nearby. Imagine you’re in the Appalachians of West Virginia, in the middle of nowhere.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Appalachian Sunrise by Red Rooster

A tin of Appalachian Sunrise tea
A photo of Helen Thayer, dressed in clothing for extreme polar weather, with her dog Charlie, on skis, hauling a sled across the ice and snow of the arctic

Quite simply, I think Helen Thayer is one of the greatest women explorers of our time. She has walked across the Sahara, Gobi, and Death Valley deserts, kayaked the entire length of the Amazon river, lived with wolves, climbed some of the world’s highest mountains, and, in this book, skis to the magnetic north pole alone, with only her dog to help alert her for polar bears. This official National Geographic Explorer writes of her journey to the magnetic north pole (and back!) in this real-life explorer thriller. She survives polar bear stalkings and forms a close bond with her brave dog Charlie in this harsh tale of the reality of doing things no one else has ever done before. This book has some compelling black and white photos that show well in the e-book as well the paperback.

Best Places to Read: Somewhere cold, with a blanket. Turn up the AC and imagine you’re in the arctic.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Polar Bear Dreams by Kobuk

A package of Polar Bear Dreams tea, featuring polar bears and the aurora borealis on the label

Indigenous Peoples Book Recommendations
A stack of Indigenous Peoples-themed books, with sunflower blossoms resting on top

From top to bottom:

The book Two Old Women, open to the title page, showing a sketch of the two old women hauling sleds

This book is famous throughout Alaska, and you’d be hard-pressed to find an Alaskan who hasn’t heard of it, and most have read it. “An Alaskan Legend of Betrayal, Courage, and Survival,” this story by Velma Wallis is a retelling of an Athabascan Alaska Native legend, telling how two old women who were abandoned by their tribe not only survived, but … (I don’t want to spoil the story!) This is a must-read if you’re interested in Indigenous or arctic culture, and is a wonderful lesson about the value of elders as well. This is one book that would be excellent as an audiobook. The original legend was passed down orally.

Best Places to Read/Listen: Somewhere you can see elderly people, perhaps a retirement community or local garden. Imagine you’re out in the wild somewhere that is foreign to you, and the elders might have knowledge to pass on.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Hawthorn & Hibiscus Tea by Traditional Medicinals

A colorful box of Hawthorn & Hibiscus tea

An old black-and-white photo of Ada Blackjack, wearing a long parka with the fur hood up

This book has wonderful epigraphs and structure, as well as authentic content. There are other arctic survival-type books, but none of them quite capture the reality of a tough expedition combined with real research, news articles, and journal entries. This is the story of a young Iñupiaq woman just trying to make some money by signing on as a seamstress for an expedition, who ends up being the sole survivor. This is a bit heavier, but very engrossing, read. There are photos that are best viewed in one of the physical editions. I haven’t seen the hardcover in person, but the paperback contains photos on special, glossy photo paper.

Best Places to Read: Somewhere you can be alone and totally absorbed in the book. Imagine you’re in a remote cabin somewhere, and no one knows where you are.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Wild Blueberry by Republic of Tea

A tin of Wild Blueberry tea, which has a pretty, blue illustration on it of water with blueberries floating in it
A picture of the partial cover of the book Myths and Legends of the Pacific Northwest, zoomed in on the photo of Mount Rainier. The cover is green, brown, and blue to reflect the colors of nature in the Pacific Northwest


A collection of classic Indigenous lore, mostly from Washington and Oregon, including creation stories, animal stories, and stories that pass on values. There are many different editions of this book, but the e-book is clear with good pictures. This would also be a wonderful audiobook, but is not currently available as such as of this writing.

Best Places to Read: In or around an Indigenous community center or museum, such as Daybreak Star in Seattle, or the University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver. Imagine you’re sitting in a quiet corner, and an elder sees the book you’re reading, stops, and tells you a story.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Crater Lake by Oregon Tea Traders

A tin of Crater Lake tea
A map showing where the Noatak River is. The Noatak River is located in northwestern Alaska, originating in the Gates of the Arctic National Park and ending in the Bering Sea.

This is an older book—pictured above is my signed first edition hardcover from 1966—that details daily life of the Inupiat people of Alaska in the early half of the twentieth century, when many more Inupiat traditions than today were still practiced. It gives a glimpse into Indigenous Alaskan customs from a kind outsider’s point of view. The author, Claire Fejes, lived in villages there for a couple years and wrote about the people and customs. Some of the details strike home for me, like reading about how she would play pinochle with the villagers, which was also the most common card game I played with my family growing up. This book is only available in physical editions, and I recommend getting an older, used edition for the charm.

Best Places to Read: This is a good book to read casually on the sofa with family around. Bring this one home for holiday reading and discuss various tidbits with others in the room.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Inukshuk Tea by Culinary Teas

A tin of Inukshuk Tea, which features an inukshuk on it (large stones stacked to resemble a person)
A black-and-white photograph of two male Yupik dancers, wearing traditional clothing and masks. This is the same photograph that is on the cover of the book Agayuliyararput.



Read about the fascinating uses of masks by my people, the Yupik of Alaska. This book draws on the remembrances of elders born in the early 1900s and is a treasure trove of traditions and values.

Best Places to Read: This read invites reflection and is best read alone somewhere quiet. Somewhere in your home that has artwork helps to prompt thoughts.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Meditation Moment by Buddha Teas

A box of Meditation Moment tea
The book The Birchbark House, open to the "Summer" subtitle page, which features a sketch of a birchbark house. The opposite side of the book is curled under to resemble birch bark.



This Indigenous classic is on almost every Indigenous reading list. It won several awards, and although it’s in the young adult category, it’s a fun read for older adults as well. It reminds me a bit of an Indigenous version of the Little House on the Prairie series, which personally I still enjoy.

Best Places to Read: This is an easy read that can be enjoyed just about anywhere. Bring it on your commute, on vacation, or home for the holidays.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Original Maple Tea by The Metropolitan Tea Company

A wooden box of Original Maple tea, featuring quaint artwork on it
A colorful Navajo sandpainting of two people


This is the definitive, and enjoyable, reference guide to learn about Navajo (Diné) sandpaintings. Another part of my cultural heritage, I appreciate that Diné traditions are still strong throughout much of the Southwest. This is a slim book with many photos and works well as a coffee table book and a craft guide. It’s only available in paperback, which works well since this is one you really want to be able to look at the pictures in a physical edition.

Best Places to Read: At your project table at home, where you can start making your own sandpainting after reading it.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Cota Wild Tea by New Mexico Tea Co

A box of Cota Wild Tea, which has a photo of the American Southwest on it
An Inuit artwork, possibly a mask, resembling a creature half-human and half-walrus perhaps, with ivory tusks and side whiskers

This is a large, museum-type book that deserves a hardcover. Full of color photos of Inuit and Inupiat carvings, this book discusses the traditional legends of the Inuit and Inupiat people, and the meanings behind various carvings. It makes an intriguing coffee table book, and is best read piece by piece, to enjoy and contemplate the discussion of the artworks.

Best Places to Read: Your coffee table, when you need an art-viewing break, or perhaps a cabin if you want to sit, do some serious study of it, and maybe do some carving of your own.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Stone Root Tea by Tea Haven

A package of Stone Root Tea
Nature Poetry Book Recommendations
The book Haiku Illustrated, open to a random page in the middle, showing some beautiful Japanese artwork on one page and a well-designed haiku poem on the other

This magnificent work of art is a collector’s item. With a sewn binding and elegant Japanese artwork with each poem, this haiku collection is a beauty just to gaze at. Add in the poetry, and you’ll find yourself reading this every day. This book is rightly only available as a hardcover.

Best Places to Read: This high-quality book shouldn’t be damaged by transporting it around. This is best read at home, with clean hands (no snacking with this one) and natural light to appreciate the artwork.

Recommended Tea Pairing: First Spring Blend Matcha by Naoki

A round container of First Spring Blend Matcha
A page from the National Geographic Book of Nature Poetry showing a nature poem with a photo of autumn leaves


A collection of poems from around the world on full-page National Geographic color photographs, this beauty can be enjoyed by the whole family, kids and adults alike. I often open it up to a random page, read a few poems at a time, and gaze at the photos. With all the high-color photographs, it’s only available as a hardcover.

Best Places to Read: This is a larger, heavier book, so is best read at home. It’s pleasant both alone or with family and friends. Try leaving it open to a favorite poem when you’re expecting a visitor.

Recommended Tea Paring: Explorer’s Blend by Fortnum & Mason

A fancy tin of Explorer's Blend tea

Featured Book: Native Plant Stories by Joseph Bruchac
A photo of the cover of Native Plant Stories, with sunflower blossoms around it
The book Nature Plant Stories open to a page showing a sketch of a story with a native design in the corner, and text on the opposing page. The book is held open and upright by two owl bookends.


From the origin of cedar baskets to why evergreens stay green, this set of stories from eight different Native American tribes explain plants’ connection to humans and our mythology. It’s easy to read one story at a time, or read the whole book in one sitting on a quite afternoon. Illustrated with light sketches on many pages, it’s a read for the curious mind.

Best Places to Read: At the edge of a forest, by a meadow or lake. Imagine you’ve gone back in time and need to learn to use the plants in your environment not only survive, but make a comfortable life for yourself.

Recommended Tea Pairing: Roasted Dandelion Root Tea by Traditional Medicinals

A box of Roasted Dandelion Tea, featuring an illustration of dandelion blossoms on it

A photograph of the author, Ana Mourant, wearing a traditional Alaskan parka and Sorel-brand boots, standing on a bridge made of ice. It's dark outside and the bridge and some items in the background are lit up with colored lights.

Ana Mourant (she/her) is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, developmental edits, structural edits, line edits, copyedits, proofreads, and beta reads, as well as authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.

Sundress Reads: Review of Babe

Sundress Reads black-and-white logo with a sheep sitting on a stool next to the words "Sundress Reads." The sheep is wearing glasses and holding a cup filled with a hot drink in one hoof and holding an open book in the other.
"Babe" is near the bottom of the bright yellow background. Below that in smaller font is the author's name "Dorothy Chan."

In Dorothy Chan’s poetry collection, Babe (Diode Editions 2021), readers are transported into a vibrant and alluring world where pleasure reigns supreme. Through her masterful use of language and vivid imagery, Chan invites the audience to indulge in her inner world, one filled with movie star glamour, iconic beauty marks reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, and a faux blue fur coat that serves as a shield against exploitation while radiating both excess and fun. In this realm, the senses are tantalized by the allure of delicious food, evoking nostalgia and delight in the present moment—a mouthwatering burger with a caramel shake, kimchi pancakes, and egg-shaped jello—each culinary creation a testament to the pleasures of the senses.

At its core, Babe searches for connection through pleasure while delving into Chan’s complex identity as a Chinese woman subjected to fetishization. The collection unearths the predatory relationships she has experienced with older men in her past, shedding light on the intricacies of power, desire, and vulnerability.

Another major theme within the collection is the resistance of queerphobia; Chan details her reality as a bisexual woman navigating her queerphobic family.  Chan is a larger-than-life movie star outright denying the script of heteronormatity, the primetime TV reality show of life has laid before her. In “Triple Sonnet, Because You Are Not My Home, You Are Not My Home, You Are Not My Family,” Chan writes: “Hello, Primetime, your formula’s / so straight, it’s stale, but what would you know? / Basic cable you have no idea what you’re missing” (22). Throughout the collection, Chan skillfully intertwines themes of pleasure and identity with her exploration of family dynamics. Babe exposes the queerphobia and misogyny present within her familial relationships, adding depth to her narrative. The raw and candid portrayal of these experiences lends authenticity to the poems, allowing readers to empathize with Chan’s journey of self-discovery and acceptance.

In “Dear Lady Stop Gifting Me Lip Balm and Handcream,” Chan recounts a time an in-law speculates on her sexuality: 

“Lady it none of your business

what I do in my spare time

and my sexuality is not yours to dissect

not yours to straighten up…

But I’ll gladly build a rocketship

ride a rocketship orgasm a rocketship

if that will shut you up and fly you out of here.” (27) 

Chan at no point denies herself within the text, yet queerphobia constantly pushes back against her expression; forcing conflict over and over. She reminds the reader that to be authentically yourself is the ultimate freedom, but social structures in place, especially those within the most intimate spaces, mean that the battle to find and maintain your authentic self is lifelong. 

Chan’s poetic prowess shines through not only in her exploration of pleasure and identity but also in her innovative use of form. She introduces readers to her invented Triple Sonnet, showcasing her technical brilliance. The line breaks of these three connected sonnets are built around the sawtooth margin, with indents for every other line. These indentations build the tension in the reading of the poem. If the words of the poem are the food, the sawtooth margin is how your teeth should chew over them. It slows you down, makes you chew a little longer so the taste of the words linger over your tongue. This form becomes a vessel for her lyrical expressions, allowing her words to flow seamlessly and captivating readers with their rhythm and cadence.

In addition to her captivating descriptions of sex and pleasure, Chan creates an intimate connection with her readers through the lens of food. Food becomes a symbol of love and acceptance, fostering a sense of comfort and belonging. We see this on full display in her poem, “Love Letter to Jello Salad, Time Travel. And My Mother:” “ .. oh so colorful, and isn’t  it such a wonder / how different shapes can enhance the taste of food, like / the flower-shaped donuts in Japan, preferably in / matcha or strawberry, or how the heart-shaped / chocolates in the  Valentines Day selection always / taste the best” (12). The rich imagery of culinary delights further enhances the sensory experience of the collection, evoking a profound emotional response from the readers. 

Babe challenges societal norms and celebrates the complexities of identity, pleasure, and love. Dorothy Chan’s poetic voice is unapologetic, bold, and empowering. Her exploration of the human experience, intertwined with themes of pleasure, desire, and acceptance, resonates deeply with readers, leaving a lasting impression. Through her eloquent verses and inventive form, Chan invites readers to embrace their desires, confront societal barriers, and revel in the freedom of being true to oneself. “Babe” is a testament to the transformative power of poetry, reminding us of the importance of embracing our authentic selves and finding joy in the pleasures of life.

Babe is available at Diode Editions

Zora Satchel (she/they) is a Black and Chinese American queer poet and cinephile who writes about mental illness, film, family, and friendship. She holds a degree in Ethnic Studies from Colorado State University and was awarded the Brooklyn Poets fellowship for winter/spring 2021. She lives on the border of Brooklyn and Queens

Interview with Tennison S. Black, Editor of A Body You Talk To: An Anthology of Contemporary Disability

Following the release of our new e-anthology A Body You Talk To: An Anthology of Contemporary Disability our Editorial Intern Max Stone spoke with editor Tennison S. Black about the importance of sharing and amplifying work by disabled writers, their editorial vision for the anthology, the story behind the title, the inclusion of visual art in the collection, and more.

Max Stone: Could you talk about the title of the anthology? Why this title? Where did it come from and how do you see it unifying this collection of work?

Tennison S. Black: The thing about me that few realize is that I have to coach myself through chronic pain to complete basic tasks. Sometimes I’m really kind to myself, “Okay, here we go. You’ve got this.” And sometimes I’m irritable with the pain or outright inability to accomplish what I want, “Just do it. Oh for fu**’s sake.” But the thing is that I talk to my body all the time. Opening a car door requires a conversation in my mind, “Focus on the ring finger and let it do the work—don’t use the thumb—okay maybe just hook it then turn your shoulders and it’ll work as leverage.”

My primary disability seems hell-bent on taking out my hands, especially. Though I’ve had this disease since 2001, in recent years it’s increased the toll and I seem to be steadily losing my access to the use of my hands. So I talk to them a lot. But also to my knee, my left hip, my shoulders, neck, and spine. I guess it depends on the task but I coach my parts toward cooperation.

In the summer months there’s something about the way my bedroom door was originally hung and so when it swells in the heat, it’s really difficult to open. Every day is hard, but when you combine that with a flare in my hands, I can easily get stuck in my room because the doorknob and the strain of opening the door causes me extreme pain but also because I just can’t pull hard enough to get it to open anymore. At some level my instinct is to sit on the floor and have a good cry until I’m rescued. But no one is coming to rescue anyone else, it seems, and also, that’s not who I want to be in this life—I don’t want to give up. Except when I really really do. The way I bridge the difference is to talk to—I don’t know—the arm, the hand, the disease that puts me in that position, myself for eating something the night before that I know could cause me additional pain—all of it. The hot summer air and humidity that causes my door to do this. The inability to pay for someone to fix it—yes and yes and yes. So I have one of those bodies that you have to talk to just to get through the day. From opening a can or jar, yes even with tools, to carrying my bag, to pulling on my clothes, I need a coach so I coach myself. And in this way, I’m not alone.

MS: Why was it important to put together an anthology of poetry on contemporary
disability at this current moment?  

TSB: I haven’t always been good at saying I’m Disabled. It’s not in my nature to disclose my feelings or my struggles. There are a lot of reasons for this, but mostly I think it came from raising my kids as a single parent with no family or friends, and feeling utterly terrified that if anyone knew the amount of pain I was in on a daily basis, or how much I was struggling, I’d lose my kids. Now, that may seem irrational today, but I can’t overstate how alone I was in those years, and how I was just trying not to die. So it took a lot for me to even begin to understand my own disability, and what it may mean to be Disabled in the world, and also what to do with that information. I was trying to just get by, walking to food banks—got evicted, and on and on. Anyway, I’m not always great at it, and I struggle still, but I feel like I need to do better.

There’s not yet been a time when being Disabled wasn’t a radical act. Yet Disabled writers are still routinely excluded in many presses and open calls. Listen, there are several incredible anthologies of this type so we’re not breaking new ground here but until it’s routine and expected that a certain percentage of writers in every anthology are openly Disabled, we all (meaning presses) have work to do. As for Sundress, this won’t be our last effort toward this end, it’s just our most recent. But I still hear from publishers that Disabled writers are “difficult,” or that we “can’t handle touring and promotion,” and that we’re just “too much,” so we still have a long way to go.

MS: How do you see these poems contributing to the conversation on disability and creating more space and empathy for disabled people in the world? 

TSB: Not all of the work in this anthology is about being Disabled except in as much as everything everyone does is influenced by their identity—Disabled and non-disabled alike. But this anthology is not necessarily intended to focus strictly on the experience of Disability as much as it’s intended to offer one more outlet, one more space for Disabled people to speak their minds or to place their art. It’s another marker saying that we’re here. In some cases these artists and writers are responding to other Disabled writers and artists. But in many cases they’re just representing themselves and saying hey, I want to be included in the conversation, please. And what else is there?
 
MS: Talk a little bit about your editorial vision for this book; what considerations did you make when choosing which poems to include? A variety of different voices, disabilities, intersecting identities, and poetic forms are represented; was this a conscious, deliberate choice that you made? 

TSB: If I could have accepted every submission, I would have. But what was my vision—I mean here we sit in this world with fascism rising all around us, trying to gobble up and kill everything good. My daily vision is to defy that push, to offer space where people can be in love and in sorrow, in pain and in hope with each other. And to offer that space up to those who are living in defiance of all that is horrid and terrible in the world.
 
MS: Are there specific poems by different poets that you think speak to or resonate with
each other? If so, which ones and how do they conversate, both in terms of content and
form? 

TSB: There are many pieces in this anthology that speak to one another. I’d prefer not to point them out because first I want the reader to have room here. But, too, I want every writer and artist herein to know that I value their work, none above any other, but with immense gratitude nonetheless for each. They’re all special to me and I chose them for that reason alone.
 
MS: The COVID-19 pandemic is a recurring theme in this anthology. Can you expand on the intersections of disability with the pandemic and the choices you made in selecting poems relating to the topic? Also, did you have an idea of how much of a presence you wanted the pandemic to have in the book going into it? 

TSB: There hasn’t yet been enough said about the impact of the pandemic on our community. Personally, I spent the pandemic with a medically suppressed immune system because it was either that or lose my ability to walk as my disease ravaged my joints. And in fact, it took multiple specialists AND me losing my ability to walk for several months to finally agree to do it because of the pandemic. But my story is far from unique or extraordinary. If you faced the pandemic with a disability, you likely had increased pressure in all of the ways that everyone else had—just more so. From loneliness to financial pressure, to physical challenges and worries amid a potentially deadly pandemic to which many of us were more susceptible—especially to the worst outcomes. I didn’t feel that I could approach the topic of disability at this stage and not also talk about the impact of the pandemic—something many of us are still facing, even if most people have decided it’s over.
 
MS: Several art pieces are also included in the anthology. Can you speak about your thought process in choosing these pieces? 

TSB: Honestly, if it weren’t for capitalism, we’d all be able to lay around and make art and write and tell stories. And I wouldn’t want to be a part of extricating one of these from another. Wherever my writing is, there will always be room for art. And I hope to include art in every editorial effort I undertake. My thoughts in the selection process here were to include pieces that spoke to or advanced the narrative of the whole and some of those were more visual than others.
 
MS: Disabilities that aren’t visible are often overlooked and ignored. How do you see A Body You Talk To tackling this issue and making such disabilities, and the people who experience them, more visible and acknowledged?  
 
TSB: For twenty years I was invisibly Disabled. My disabilities have only become really visible in the last few years, and even then, they again can be invisible to those who don’t understand what they’re seeing. Like so many of us, I have been screamed at for parking in an accessible parking space, or for using the accessible stall in the restroom. I’ve been asked by a very prominent Disability rights advocate why I was there at a disability event and how they could know I was Disabled because I didn’t look disabled to them. It’s awful to be put in these positions so I just don’t think we need to justify ourselves. We don’t owe our medical information to anyone. It’s not really for me to make other Disabled people more visible but to offer them a platform to make themselves more visible (if they choose) is something I can do. And acknowledgement might be nice but what I want is universal accessibility. I want us all to be able to get in and out of buildings and to get around the world without so much difficulty or the need to justify ourselves to others. A Body You Talk To is a place for some Disabled writers and artists to be heard and to publish their work. That alone is, I hope, enough. It’s a room. The real work belongs to the writers and artists contained therein.

A Body You Talk To: An Anthology of Contemporary Disability is free and available to download on the Sundress website

Tennison S. Black (they/she), a queer and multiply disabled autistic, is the author of Survival Strategies (winner of the National Poetry Series, UGA Press 2023). Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in SWWIM, Hotel Amerika, Booth, Wordgathering, and New Mobility, among others. They received an MFA at Arizona State University. They are the Managing Editor at Sundress Publications and Best of the Net. Though Sonoran born, they reside in Washington state.

Max Stone is a poet from Reno, Nevada. He has an MFA in poetry and a BA in English with a minor in Book Arts and Publication from the University of Nevada, Reno. He was born and raised in Reno, but has lived in various other places including New York City, where he played soccer at Queens College. He is the author of two chapbooks: Temporary Preparations (Bottlecap Press, June 2023) and The Bisexual Lighting Makes Everyone Beautiful (Ghost City Press, forthcoming July 2023). His work has been published by & Change, just femme and dandy, fifth wheel press, Bender Zine, Black Moon Magazine, The Meadow, Night Coffee Lit, and elsewhere.

Sundress Reads: Review of In the Hands of the River

Sundress Reads black-and-white logo with a sheep sitting on a stool next to the words "Sundress Reads." The sheep is wearing glasses and holding a cup filled with a hot drink in one hoof and holding an open book in the other.
A book cover that has a spectral-looking figure standing at the edge of a river against a dark gray and black forest background with a white and gray tree with skeletal branches that reflect on the water and hang over a blue moon that looms on the horizon.

In his debut collection, In the Hands of the River (Hub City Press, 2022), Lucien Darjeun Meadows’ poetry is richly textured with layers of imagery and verdant detail that explores the complexities of growing up queer in Appalachia, a place marked by contradictions and misconceptions—the nexus at which the speaker exists. Through exacting and lush lyric poems Meadows spins a delicate, haunting, and dauntless delineation of this difficult yet beautiful place and what it’s like to grow up queer there. While many poems touch on difficult subject  matter, Meadows skillfully intersperses kernels of light and hope in the midst of tragedy and fear by turning to the effusive beauty of nature, “We are always searching for light / And finding a hoofprint, a heartbeat, the moment / A hill disappears and the tunnels of your blood / Vibrate a golden song just a little too late.”

The speaker exists at an intersection of identities that are ostensibly at odds being that he is of both Cherokee and European ancestors and is Appalachian and queer. He reaches back into thorny memories of a haunted childhood, bringing his ancestors, both long past and immediate, back to the hollers with him as a way of reconciling the difficulties of his upbringing as a “boy made of shards.” It is clear that things like queerness are not often discussed in Appalachia, “Ten thousand silenced stories / Under every tree, /  a home / For a tongue: our exchange.” People’s stories and pain are swept not just under the rug, but underneath the earth. Ultimately, the speaker comes to a resting place with himself—realizing each seemingly disparate shard makes him who he is and he can indeed be all of those things at once.

These poems sprawl across time as vestiges of the past cling to the speaker’s present and the impact of humans threatens the future for all species. Meadows explores multi-generational trauma both in human and environmental terms as he glides effortlessly through temporalities of experience. He is attuned to the flow and the strife of the flora and fauna around him and his ability to compress time is remarkable. In the opening poem “Rust,” Meadows captures feelings of nostalgia: “These yards become indistinguishable— / Porch swing, tomato patch, kiddie pool— / No matter if the kids have grown and gone—” then hits us with the gnawing ache of loss and change with “No matter. Every plastic swimming pool turns / From its original blue to rust pink in a year or two.” Childhood, growing up and leaving home condensed into a few lines. Near the end of the poem, Meadows makes a connection with nature, and the collection’s titular river, “Down by the river’s edge,” in order to link the distant past, “we slip back to Biblical,” with the ever-presence of death looming in the future, “See death as the ultimate baptism—whether lungs fill / With the grit of a collapsing tunnel, riverwater, / Or both.” Meadows uses the long time of the river to elucidate the short time of humans, while also speaking to the reverberations of human exploitation of the landscape with the collapsing tunnel.

Meadows embodies the environment and writes with such precision and care for it. In the poem “Dragonfly,” Meadows writes: “I steal your body from a clutch of blue lupines.. And I swoon into my future corpse, my body / Your body, here, splayed under unforgiving light. / I detach your wings,” shrinking the perceived distance between humans and the natural world, reminding us that we are not hermetically sealed off from it, and ever-so-gently reorienting us with the interconnection of everything. 

I would categorize this collection as queer ecopoetry, an unofficial new limb of poetry that reimagines the heteronormative relationship between humans and the environment. In this unflinching yet tender work, Meadows presents us with a new relationship between humans and nature: a queer relationship. This collection illuminates a way of interacting with nature that is not about control, violence, and endless extraction; that is not patriarchal, heteronormative, and capitalistic. Rather, Meadows provides a path through the Anthropocene landscape of Appalachia, that has been muddied and polluted by mining and greed, that is steeped in love, attention, and care.

Meadows is doing important work in this collection in bringing to light a queer narrative from West Virginia, a place that is too often overlooked. This collection comes at a crucial moment and is much-needed as queerness and transness are increasingly under attack. Stories like this show the multitude of queer experience. Queer people exist everywhere and this collection underscores the importance of  poetry and stories from places like West Virginia that are largely neglected or dismissed due to prejudiced assumptions. In this soaring and incisive debut, Meadows challenges the dominant narratives of West Virginia by providing a precise and aching view of life in a place that is marked by hardship and brutality, yes, but also by the fierce resilience of the people and other species that call the scarred yet luscious and beautiful landscape home. 

In the Hands of the River is available from Hub City Press

Max Stone has an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Nevada, Reno, from where he also has a BA in English with a minor in Book Arts and Publication. He is originally from Reno, but has lived in many other places since including, most recently, New York City, and hopes to leave again soon. He has a chapbook, The Bisexual Lighting Makes Everyone Beautiful, forthcoming this summer with Ghost City Press. His poetry has been published in fifth wheel press, &Change, Black Moon Magazine, Sandpiper Review, Night Coffee Lit, Caustic Frolic, and elsewhere. Max is also a book artist and retired college soccer player.

Sundress Reads: Review of Four in Hand

Sundress Reads black-and-white logo with a sheep sitting on a stool next to the words "Sundress Reads." The sheep is wearing glasses and holding a cup filled with a hot drink in one hoof and holding an open book in the other.
A book cover that reads "Four in Hand" in white letters against a dark green background with a folded down piece of yellow in the top right-hand corner. "Poems" is written in yellow in a vertical line below the title and the author's name "Alicia Mountain" is written in black letters at the very bottom of the page against a white outline that wraps around the dark green and yellow.

Alicia Mountain’s new poetry collection Four in Hand (BOA Editions, 2023) is comprised of four heroic crown sonnets—a sequence of fifteen interlinking sonnets wherein the last line of the first sonnet is the first line of the next, and so on, and the fifteenth sonnet consists of the first lines of the previous fourteen. Quite a complicated structure indeed, and tricky to pull off, but Mountain does so masterfully. She weaves together eloquent, and at times archaic, language with urgent issues like late-stage capitalism, the pandemic, environmental devastation, LGBTQ issues and discrimination, drone strikes, the 2016 election, etc. with contemporary references and found text. Mountain also offers contemplations of familial structures, her gay poetic lineage, love and loss, as well as investigations of the self and place.  Aside from the political undercurrents and heavier themes, Four in Hand is also tender and personal suffused with numerous kinds of love, including the lingering love that persists even after heartbreak, “I offer to trade you / a poem for the story of the place we pressed / our bodies together.” This book feels like a necessary antidote to the crushing pressures and anxieties facing us today.

A narrative thread is braided through the book, submerging then reemerging signaled by motifs like “train tracks,” “the queen,” and “violet,” “which operate as anchors that ground the poems and refocus the reader’s attention. The form lends itself to this loose, nonlinear narrative and though each heroic crown appears disparate at first you begin to notice the intricate patterns as you read further.

Each sonnet rolls effortlessly into the next, turning the meaning of its last line to mean something completely different—even opposite—when it becomes the first line of the next sonnet. For example, the last line of the ninth sonnet in the first sequence “Train Town Howl” reads “whomever you love. They belong beside you,” which seems to be a lament that their ex-lover likely has a new lover. But in the next sonnet, the same line reads as well-wishing towards the lover rather than lamentation—the speaker is now expressing to their past lover that they deserve to be with someone they love, whomever it may be, and be happy. Mountain achieves this reversal of meaning simply by changing the sentence structure. As a last line “whomever you love” is part of the sentence that begins in the previous line, but as the first line of the tenth stanza, “Whomever you love” is the beginning of the sentence, starting a thought rather than completing one. It’s a tiny change but has a significant impact, which is a testament to the virtuosity of Mountain’s. The syntax is delicately crafted and each period, comma, line break, and word, and is intentional.

On the note of intentionality, while many sonnets in the collection resemble traditional sonnets, the sonnet form never feels tired because of Mountain’s experimentation. In the second sequence “Sparingly,” she pushes the boundaries of the form: each line consists only of a single word. A traditional sonnet puts pressure on the line as a unit, by using one word per line Mountain zeroes in on the word, forcing us to linger with each word and really notice them, hold on to each syllable, savor the sounds.

Despite the dark cloud of political instability, environmental degradation, and loss that permeates, Mountain finds moments of lightness and hope, especially in the “elementary poets” the speaker is teaching poetry. They like “butts and cats and killing” and the girls are “purple princes too.” This childhood silliness and wonder contrasts the “The sinister lever-pull that will not right us / came swift in November,” meaning the election of Donald Trump and the dividedness of the nation. Mountain asks, “How long has it / been since you worked for an hourly wage?” exemplifying the disconnect between the wealthy and the politicians and the rest of us. By posing this question and then going to work with eight-year-old poets, the speaker is deciding to do not be crushed by despair and do the important work of investing hope in the future, represented by the children, and in small but not inconsequential actions. Such a kernel of optimism is found when “Eight-year-old writes, We befriend enemy / countries like we were never enemies.” A vision of a more peaceful world without senseless violence—a better world.

Four in Hand is an epic, ambitious work, the opulent landscapes, gentle intimacy, and acute awareness of corruption and destruction that we are complicit in, “Often, I forget I am a benefactor / of war by birthright,” will percolate in your brain long after you’ve put the book down. It is a perfect alchemy of the personal and the political, of abundance and sparsity, of the quotidian and the extraordinary. Mountain demonstrates dexterity in both form, lyric, and blank verse while retaining a pleasurable cohesiveness. This book is achingly beautiful and exemplifies the magic of poetry—how at its best, poetry can touch you deeply; make you feel, and think, and cry, and hope, and yearn, and be glad to be alive.

Four in Hand is available from BOA Editions

Max Stone is in his final semester as an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Nevada, Reno. He received his BA in English with a minor in Book Arts and Publication from UNR in 2019. He is originally from Reno, but has lived in many other places since including, most recently, New York City. His poetry has been published in Black Moon Magazine, & Change, Fifth Wheel Press, Sandpiper Review, Night Coffee Lit, Caustic Frolic, and elsewhere. Max is also book artist and retired college soccer player.

Doubleback Books Announces the Release of Joy Ladin’s Impersonation

Doubleback Books announces the release of Joy Ladin’s Impersonation. Previously published in 2015 from The Sheep Meadow Press, and a finalist for the Lamda Literary Award, Impersonation is a collection of poems that chronicles the messy, mysterious, profound, and idiosyncratic gender transition of the speaker. It is a book about the life-long process of becoming. The poems encompass shame and triumph, ecstasy and disappointment, the mundane humiliation of airport security screenings and the miraculous experience of incarnation and fully embodied love. This new edition of Impersonation has been edited with new poems, a new structure, and a new introduction by the author.

Download your copy of Impersonation on the Doubleback Books website.

Joy Ladin has long worked at the tangled intersection of literature and trans identity. She has published ten books of poetry, including her latest collection, Shekhinah Speaks (Selva Oscura Press, 2022); 2021 National Jewish Book Award winner The Book of Anna (EOAGH); and Lambda Literary Award finalists Impersonation and Transmigration. A new collection, Family, is forthcoming from Persea in 2024. She has also published a memoir of gender transition, National Jewish Book Award finalist Through the Door of Life, and a groundbreaking work of trans theology, Lambda Literary and Triangle Award finalist, The Soul of the Stranger: Reading God and Torah from a Transgender Perspective. Her writings have  been recognized with a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship and a Fulbright Scholarship, among other honors. Many of her poems, essays, and videos of her presentations are available at joyladin.wordpress.com.