Darlene Young’s Here is a hymn to “this jumblesale world,” a journey into middle-aged motherhood, into empty nesting, into God. While a youngest son is on the cusp of manhood, and a mother who worries if she’s done enough to prepare him for life, God shows up each morning as dance partner and “jerks / his head meaningfully towards the dance floor.” Her response: a “hell yes.” The voice in these poems is often playful and laced with refreshing snark, such as when she says no to addressing God as “Thou” instead of “You” in her prayers. Other times the speaker’s voice is earnest-honest, such as when she considers her heartbreak over her son’s heartbreak: “Either way, / it’s you with your hand outstretched, / longing.” Here is hyper-aware of the moment, ultra-attentive to the now—at the cusp of letting grown children go, noting the body’s slow fumble into age—we’re reminded that all we have is fleeting, temporary, and therefore incredibly precious. We are gently transformed.
—Dayna Patterson, author of O Lady, Speak Again