Spread Thick

<p class=ql-align-justify>The taqueria around the corner the compost bin and the garden's milkweed hosta and honeysuckle make up the limited but luscious landscape of Sara Triana's <em>Spread Thick</em>. At once a record of life in the midst of a global pandemic as well as a meditation on what it means to live in a world that is newly uncertain in other ways Triana's rich poems invite readers into questions of motherhood identity and the places we look to for salvation when the world is on fire. There is a boldness in these poems an assertiveness the compelling voice of a speaker who has started embrace her own wrestling her own wanting. A voice that shows us that there may be a way to make it through the kind of world we'd hoped to never experience: not a contrived silver-lining optimism but a refusal to look away from tragedy while holding one's arms open to anything lush abundant or spread thick.</p><p class=ql-align-justify><strong>-Cherie Nelson</strong> Editor of <em>The Waking</em> and essayist</p><p class=ql-align-justify><br></p><p class=ql-align-justify>In <em>Spread Thick</em><strong> </strong>Sara Triana elegantly navigates the domestic and the numinous her terror and joy giving readers a narrator who finds beauty in the mundane while maintaining an almost invisible rage that lingers just below the surface. Her poems pulse with life-indelible messy beautiful.</p><p class=ql-align-justify><strong>-Cameron Dezen Hammon</strong> author of <em>THIS IS MY BODY</em> winner of the </p><p class=ql-align-justify>Writers' League of Texas 2019 Discovery Prize in Nonfiction</p><p><br></p>