Bone is a beautiful, visceral, haunting book of poetry. Most of the poems are quite short, but I often find that the most perfectly written things are not the longest.
These are not poems written for occasions: for weddings or funerals or christenings. They are poems for poetry’s sake, in the best possible way. Poems written because sometimes the core of our experience needs a poem to express itself.
“Self-expression is a tricky thing.
Just as you start to feel
comfortable with yourself after years
of not, you have to justify
yourself to other people.”
Thoughts on love and life, on death and betrayal, on sex and what it means to be oneself in a society that doesn’t want to allow it. Bone has it all: somehow, in a mere 138 pages (some containing just a couple of lines), Daley-Ward cuts to the core of existence.
I loved this book so much that I bought several copies, because I imagine I will be lending it to lots of people for lots of reasons. 100% recommended.