An astonishing collection about interconnectedness--between the human and nonhuman, ancestors and ourselves--from National Book Critics Circle Award winner, National Book Award finalist and U.
S.
Slippery and waddle thieving my tomatoes still / green in the morning\'s shade, writes Limón of a groundhog in her garden, she is doing what she can to survive..
But The Hurting Kind is filled, above all, with connection and the delight of being in the world.
There are flashes of the pandemic, ghosts whose presence manifests in unexpected memories and the mysterious behavior of pets left behind.
Along the way, we glimpse loss.
And they honor parents, stepparents, and grandparents: the sacrifices made, the separate lives lived, the tendernesses extended to a Hurting child; the abundance, in retrospect, of having two families.
These poems slip through the seasons, teeming with horses and kingfishers and the gleaming eyes of fish.
What does it mean to be the Hurting kind? To be sensitive not only to the world\'s pain and joys, but to the meanings that bend in the scrim between the natural world and the human world? To divine the relationships between us all? To perceive ourselves in other beings--and to know that those beings are resolutely their own, that they do not / care to be seen as symbols? With Limón\'s remarkable ability to trace thought, The Hurting Kind explores those questions--incorporating others\' stories and ways of knowing, making surprising turns, and always reaching a place of startling insight.
I am the Hurting kind.
I have always been too sensitive, a weeper / from a long line of weepers, writes Limón.
Poet Laureate Ada Limón.
An astonishing collection about interconnectedness--between the human and nonhuman, ancestors and ourselves--from National Book Critics Circle Award winner, National Book Award finalist and U.
S
