Jessica Cuello’s Liar is a riveting poetry collection that screams raw truth. In the poem “Liyer,” the speaker states, “Grandmother says / We don’t know where / her words are.” Oh, yes, we do! We do know where “her words are.” For example, in the poem “Laundromat with Single Mother,” the words are crammed into “trash bags” and on their way in “a cab to the laundromat.” In “Crusifde Is Over Nurse’s Desk,” the words are “mounted / above the door like a knight’s war sign.” In “At Five I burned Down My Grandmother’s Bathroom,” the words are feeding the flames that “spread, from my hand / to the toilet paper, to the / fringed edges of the curtains.” In “The Boy Is My Shepherd,” the words are controlled by the boy: “He made me a to-do list for Saturday, for after school, / a list of people I could talk to. He took my phone. / I was too ashamed to tell my brother.” Why? Because “they’d played / football together.” In “I’m the Slut,” the words are brushed into “the Renoir girl / tacked to the art room wall / in a haze of gold and cheek.” In “After,” the words are submerged in the suicide shower blood that “no one wanted to clean.” The truth in Liar will most likely not set us free. That is because the truth in Liar is there to saturate our senses with the reminder that we cannot and must not ignore human suffering and need, especially when suffering and need pertain to our children.