Gertrude Stein writes: Pink looks as pink, pink looks as pink, as pink as pink supposes, suppose. Dzvinia Orlowsky's poems in her new book are strung along the tension of a black thread stretched to near snapping as her tenacious, feisty speaker refuses for all women the typecast as another breast cancer statistic, another bumper sticker pink bow. Equal parts shepherd, punk, and auburn-wigged angel, Orlowsky, with torches in her hand, illuminates this dark passage with images of startling originality and honesty. The clear voice in this book joins those whose lives have been and continue to be altered by this disease.
Convertible Night, Flurry of Stones
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