"Space, in Chains speaks in ghostly voices, fractured narratives, songs, prayers, and dark riddles as it moves through contemporary tragedies of grief and the complex succession of generations. In her eighth book of poetry, Laura Kasischke has pared the construction of her verse to its bones, leaving haunting language and a visceral strangeness of imagery. by turns mournful and celebratory, Kasischke's poetry insists upon asking hard questions that are courageously left unanswered."--Cover, p. .
Some of the parts that struck me, some for their elogquence, some for their simplicity:
"A girl in a bed trying to tune the AM radio to the voices of the dead."
"... the soldiers marching across some flowery field in France bear their own soft pottery in their arms—heart, lung, abdomen."
"as if the worship of a thing might be the thing that breaks it."
"The wind has toppled the telescope over onto the lawn: So much for stars. Your brief shot at the universe, gone."
"Bright splash of blood on the kitchen floor. Astonishing red. (All that brightness inside me?)"
"And my father ringing the bell for the nurse in the night, and then not even the bell. Ringing the quiet. Waiting in the silence"
"Believable, chronological, but so quickly erased that it only serves to prove that the universe is made of curving, warping space."
"When I built my luminous prison around you, you simply lay down at the center of it and died."
"Who knew those bees were making honey of our grief?"