“Home is the structure you build when nowhere else will have you,” writes Ann Tweedy in this gutsy, no-nonsense collection of poems built on a precarious and often tender journey through homes no longer available to return to. The result is neither sadness nor nostalgia; it is hard, clean narrative of self-preservation and survival, fitted with unexpected joy. I feel such kinship with these poems, their testament to the strength and determination of women and men who struggle to build life anew, and to find home and happiness in a world of travail. What a blessed space this book is: a home for the wayward soul.
-D. A. Powell, American Poet
-Carol Guess, author of Doll Studies: Forensics What made me sit down and read The Body’s Alphabet, cover to cover, in a single evening? Perhaps it is the way that I know, in Ann Tweedy’s poems, I will find the unvarnished truth, and a voice with “the drowsed freedom to talk about anything.” And I know I will find that truth compassionately rendered, details delicately arranged like the flowers of the “dutiful and stubborn” forsythia of which she writes. This is a book about finding homes for ourselves-homes for our adult selves, even as complex memories of our childhood homes still live inside us; homes for our bodies; homes in the natural world. Tweedy’s vision is both hopeful and wise.
-Katrina Vandenberg, author of Atlas and The Alphabet Not Unlike the World