In Melissa Atkinson Mercer's Saint of the Partial Apology, I've rediscovered the terrifying pleasures of awe, of limbs that part like orchids in black rain, of maps made from wolves' feet, of "the white church of the rabbit's jaw." I've discovered the most tender rage in these pages, but here, here Mercer also offers a dark and certain light to bury myself in. These poems want to confound you, and you should let them. Enjoy their witch-dark and loose miracles. This book is a lostness worthy of every pilgrim.
Traci Brimhall, author of Our Lady of the Ruins and Saudade
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In Melissa Atkinson Mercer's Saint of the Partial Apology, I've rediscovered the terrifying pleasures of awe, of limbs that part like orchids in bl...
