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Love Prodigal [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Poetry)
  • Author:  Brimhall, Traci
  • Author:  Brimhall, Traci
  • ISBN-10:  1556597029
  • ISBN-10:  1556597029
  • ISBN-13:  9781556597022
  • ISBN-13:  9781556597022
  • Publisher:  Copper Canyon Press
  • Publisher:  Copper Canyon Press
  • Pages:  112
  • Pages:  112
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • SKU:  1556597029-11-MING
  • SKU:  1556597029-11-MING
  • Item ID: 107034634
  • List Price: $17.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Oct 31 to Nov 02
  • Notes: Brand New Item. Not shipped to AK, HI, APO, FPO, AE.

Amidst cycles of heartbreak, trauma, and chronic pain,Love Prodigalfinds strength in the natural world, motherhood, desire, and new love.

Fiercely self-aware and “utterly present tense, Traci Brimhall'sLove Prodigallives in the messiness of starting over. As Brimhall grieves a divorce and a new diagnosis, cycles of loss, heartbreak, family trauma, and chronic illness appear. There is an urge to detach, to go numb. Yet, pain is always returned as a gift—the beautiful vulnerability of feeling. In conversation with Da Vinci, Shakespeare, and Bachelard, images of the phoenix appear throughout the collection; its metaphor promises an easy and endless cycle of rebirth—a forever life, forever alone. Brimhall rejects this idea, instead reaching for the slow, messy, and imperfect process of healing. When the body becomes a site the poet “cannot live in or leave, she finds strength in the beauty of the natural world, in motherhood, in desire, in new love, in “a thousand small pleasures that made [her] want to live. Told through various forms—aubades, a prose crown of sonnets, an admissions essay—Love Prodigalsaysyesto second (and third and fourth) chances. The heart gets bigger every time it heals.

US

LOVE PRODIGAL

I make love when I am bored.

That's how I know I'm an intelligent

animal. It's easy to tremble—a pistil

brushed with a bumblebee's fur—

and who doesn't want to be golden,

like pearls of fat glistening in an artery

or a mother's first milk? I want

to send you photos of dead fledglings

on the sidewalk, those pl(

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