It’s so fitting that the proem of this collection, “Somewhere the Child,” is a cento. After all, in grief we often turn to the words of others when we can’t find our own. By splicing together lines from Judith E. Prest and Victoria Chang, Turner creates a powerful closing couplet: “When the mothers leave, what are we supposed to do?” That’s the question this book seeks to answer. And if there is an answer, I’d say it’s to write poem after poem, “beautiful bruise” after “beautiful bruise.” In “All This Way,” the speaker’s mother — “alive again” —“[slips] back into this bent & broken world. To tell me something. To tell me. To tell.” Fortunately, she seems to be telling her daughter to tell us the truth about love and grief. And Turner does so exquisitely.