Poems exploring the idea of home and the difficulties of a deeply ambiguous relationship to that word. At once wise and achingly at a loss, Ann Scowcroft's The Truth of Houses is an elegant and honest debut collection. While very intimate--even startlingly intimate at times--the voices of these poems are constantly taking a step backward, wrestling for a measure of distance and perspective. Reading them, we eavesdrop on the uncovering of a personal vernacular that might allow the present to be better lived; we have the sense of overhearing a particular yet eerily familiar inner struggle--a struggle for insight, for an equanimity with which both narrator and fortunate reader might re-enter life anew. "All of which is to say: the houses aren't fooled the houses know the five truths The truth of light: you will see before you understand The truth of motion: escape is an illusion The truth of trees: your busy life will dissolve into the soil The truth of windows: what protects can also maim The truth of peace: despite all the other truths knowing will come to you wearing one hundred faces contain you as once you contained your own blood" --from "The Truth of Houses"
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