A girl is born into the world's keeping, and the world keeps her only long enough to burn.
In dormitories, Catholic schoolgirls carve runes into deer bone. In castles, early starlight flames in northern windows. Within the cold, someone leaves a girl unnamed. Makes her a body. Spring lamb for the stuffing. Salted fowl. Quail and lark and hare. Every small woodland creature a prince turns on a spit and feasts upon.
In Keira Clementine's enchanting debut poetry collection, A Girl Is A Body In The Cold, tenderness and violence shape girlhood together. Survival conjures its own dark enchantments. The girl stays caught between what is barely seen and barely remembered. Her bones hesitate. Her blood carries old stories no one cares to hear.
Every blade may want her throat, but a girl's heart keeps singing enchanted lullabies all the same.
