Colorfast

McLarney (Forage) so smoothly blends the everyday with historical resonance, the natural world with the human, her Appalachian upbringing with the wider world, and philosophical reflection with blackberries and near-transparent mica that one barely notices any seams. She moves deftly from memories of teenage boys in cars to the neglected Indigenous ruins and risky oil tanks beneath her town’s foundations, from a mangy fox to our end time on Earth, and from a woman’s argument with a flummoxed clerk about property limits to issues of women’s safety (“I’m not so naive I believe // a few split rails are enough to ensure / any boundary. I do know how likely / a blouse’s buttons are to be undone”). Comparing unending meal preparation (“That the plates be emptied— / was that not your ambition?”) to a night at the ballet (“danced / tonight’s particular way once only”) highlights a strong theme: how women’s history is often linked to food (“I stood by women of my family as they cooked the yields / of whole orchards down into canning jars”) and how that history and women’s lives generally are often submerged.