Like "sunlight stroking the birds' throats so it comes out as song," Ann Fisher-Wirth's graceful and sturdy lines unsettle the seemingly familiar. A writer of moral gravity, her distilled attentiveness presses against our all-too-common ambivalence and detachment from the ordinary world. Whether set in Mississippi, California, the Ozarks, or France, the poems in The Bones of Winter Birdsexhibit an abundance of compassion and civility. As Fisher-Wirth praises, laments, let’s go, language salvages what might otherwise be missed. It's with attentiveness and emotional poise that these poems lay everything bare.
