If shame works by convincing us that we are bad, by pinning us into a definition of badness, then the poems in Rummage resist by refusing to be pinned at all.
All around me were strangers. All around me were friends. A dark glittering sea of fists. What a terrible, wonderful thing, to be welcomed into this fellowship at last.
[T]his is a book about the ways in which even our most intimate relationships can slip beyond our control, fracturing along barely perceptible fault lines.
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