After-Cave germinates in a space that is
desolate and dangerous. It invites the reader to nestle in the narrator’s skin
as a movement towards livability is recorded. The words collect on the
speaker’s dermis, galvanically; groggily we awake in the eyes of a girl,
fifteen, perhaps animal and perhaps human, maybe alive and possibly dead. A
hybrid text, After-Cave contains
poems and fragments, sentences and paragraphs, experiments in sound and syntax,
as well as visual poetry and cartographies. Language moves over the speaker
like weather systems and migratory birds, troubling notions of linear time and
traversing the spaces of human-made and "natural" disaster. More
pressing than hunger is the need to know what “cruelty” means and how one might
live in its absence, a series of torsions that displace us from a surface and
convey us to its underside, which is to say that After-Cave is a book about the impossible. How to make the impossible hospitable, and
thereby, in one’s way, to prepare oneself to meet one’s friends: human, animal,
the always alive and the already-dead. A feminist, feral-poetic odyssey,
purring and covered in mud. The words pace themselves on cave time. The better
to welcome an encounter that changes us as we wish to be changed.
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