Fugitives

Danielle Pieratti's nuanced meditations create a world of inner and outer landscapes, inextricably bound. Her poems suffuse the ordinary-hay and mud and ice, horses and orchards, childhood and womanhood and parenthood-with a sensibility both acute and tender. I love the mood of this collection, its music and clarities and mysteries. Savor it slowly. "For the moment, nothing that is here / flies away. -- Kim Addonizio

Winner of the 2017 Connecticut Book Award for PoetryWinner of the 2015 Idaho Prize for Poetry

The poems in Danielle Pieratti's Fugitives are punctuated by avoidance, disguise, and sheltering of all kinds—escapes both from and to. They combine the magical and the mundane, shifting between dreams and the domestic, while exploring the nebulous confines of marriage, motherhood, and girlhood. Ultimately they learn a kind of tentative security in a 'strange, unyielding,' and deserved present, one in which 'You are / safer than you thought. / You are almost / sleeping. And your body / is shaped like cloth and sounds / like a century.'