UNEARTH [THE FLOWERS]

In her debut book, Matthews titles each piece with both a common and Latin flower name; an appended glossary provides more information. She groups the poems, some of which have been previously published in literary journals and anthologies, into two sections: “Perennial” and “Annual.” A prefatory poem, “PRELUDE | Praeludium,” gives context for the collection. In it, the speaker remembers childhood violations: “UNEARTH     the abuse : repetition of bruising the spirit / … / the time said once more / ssshhhh . . . don’t tell no body.” Disbelief from others injures the speaker’s psyche and, for a time, silences her, “the cries trapped in my teeth.” But a reclaimed voice speaks in the last lines: “the tongue clipped           now regrown / UNEARTH     [THE FLOWERS].” The “now regrown” phrase suddenly gives the poem a different perspective, implying that what’s buried can also be a source of renewal. Many other poems in this collection explore this theme, such as “RAIN LILY | Zephyranthes grandiflora,” in which the speaker acknowledges lacerating pain but sees richness and power in it: “the scars of finding gold. You’ll see me shine / like a glass case of knives.” Similarly, “LILAC | Syringa vulgaris,” dedicated to the poet’s grandfather, begins “Take your filthy hands off me.” But as the poem continues, the speaker’s powerful negation transforms into breathtakingly defiant joy in lines that step boldly across the page: “I sow I weep I sow I weep / for many moons I renew / an ethereal field of Lilacs!” Throughout, Matthews’ themes are underscored by compact, powerful language, skillful technique, and striking images of sinewy beauty: “I yawn my limbs to five corners,” says one speaker, and in another work, a female subject “cracks windchimes with her teeth.”

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