A solid mix of poetry with several standout poems, this chapbook feels in many ways like a love letter to the poetry made in and shaped by Philly and the surrounding areas. While it didn’t provide the consistent emotional resonance I’ve gotten from some of my favorite anthologies, it did fill me with a deep sense of gratitude for poetry, for poets, and for the Free Library of Philadelphia’s acknowledgement that we would be lost without the poets in our midst.

When I started this book, it almost immediately reminded me of some of my favorite literature featuring female protagonists struggling to survive oppressive situations and protect the people they love. The plot felt discomforting yet full of potential to challenge the ways we reinforce systemic oppression in our relationships to people and communities. The characters felt layered in ways that could invite thoughtful consideration about power, privilege, pain, and healing. Unfortunately, all the potential I felt at the beginning of the book never fully manifested.

Rather than use the plot's conclusion to highlight broader messages about who we deem sacrificable and how systemic injustice reinforces those decisions, the author focused instead on subordinating many of the major issues in the book to queerness and romantic attraction in a way that felt uncomfortable and unsatisfying. Marisol and Rey’s relationship never quite felt balanced which contributed to a lot of my discomfort around the way the author used Marisol's queerness as plot points in the latter half of the book. All the characters also lost some of their allure the deeper I got into the novel as the author forced them into choices that didn’t always align with their goals and tropes that didn’t seem to add to the narrative.

Despite my many critiques, I truly loved Marisol as a protagonist. Her mix of fear, bravery, adaptability, and rigidity felt beautifully frustrating and was the number one reason I kept reading this book (followed close behind by her relationship with Gabi). Part of my struggle with the latter half of the book was because I loved her so much and it felt like the author wanted me to celebrate moments when her agency was stripped away by the narrative, which I couldn't do. That combined with my dissatisfaction with other narrative elements left me feeling, more than anything, that I was just glad to be done with this book when it was over.

I waited almost three months to read this collection because I was afraid it wouldn’t live up to my experience hearing Wise when she was featured at the Philly Pigeon Late-ish show in the spring. I wanted to love her poems in print the way I loved them when spoken aloud and my experience with the last few books of poetry I read left me doubtful that I could. Fortunately, Wise’s skill shines on the page just as much as it does on the stage. At times, it shone in writing even more so.

Because on the page, I could see more clearly the intentionality of her flow, the way she weaves the poetry sprouting on the city streets with the poetry budding behind not-always-accessible classroom doors. While reading, I could hear more clearly how her poetry sings not just because of how she performs it but also because of how she structures it on the page. And that level of craftsmanship created a rich, evocative environment that made it easy to lean into the love and pain, joy and grief, certainty and wonder that poured out of these poems.

From the first several pages, this collection of poetry gripped me emotionally, artistically, personally, and professionally, and rarely let me go until the end. I cannot wait to experience more of Wise’s work now that I have finished this book.