Balm for the Living by Angie Minkin

Balm for the Living offers poems like stoppered jars that hold the essence of our humanness—generational memory, our urge to connect to one another and the natural world, the exultation of our creative play, our staunchness in facing war, pandemic, and even, especially, ordinary loss. The dying, too, are allowed their humanity in these poems, which pay unusual, careful attention to last words, last breath, and the “slide between worlds.” Throughout the collection, Angie Minkin’s verve and wit are evident in the variety of lyrical forms—abecedarian, cento, erasure, prose poem, sonnet, villanelle, and free-line—that she capably employs. Though these poems are permeated with lemon, eucalyptus, salt marsh, and cedar, San Francisco is less a setting than a confluence of energies—wind, waves, and, penetrating everything, the starlight at which we gaze to trace “the arc” of our mysterious lives.

–Erin Redfern, author of Spellbreaking and Other Life Skills

In this glorious collection, birds are cherished everywhere. The opening poem meditates on the healing magic of homemade chicken soup, and the closing poem sings the praises of cedar waxwings who “arrive/ to show us how to feast fully.” In between, in both formal and free verse Angie Minkin celebrates sparrows, hawks, “an unseen thrush,” blue herons, finches, a kestrel that “lands in the hawthorn tree,” pelicans, snowy plovers. Among these marvelous birds, we also hear children dancing and “hollering wishes to heaven,” as well as old women “humming private melodies” and retracing steps “in this origami life.” Angie Minkin’s poems brim with wonder, vitality, and reverence. They lift us off the ground. They give us wings.

–Kathleen McClung, author of A Juror Must Fold in on Herself and Temporary Kin

Angie Minkin’s Balm for the Living is a joy to read – superb crafting of language, nicely sensual, woven with memories and tenderness. In these poems, you can conjure spells in a dented soup pot, follow the reverberations of a meditation bell, and tango in Havana. You can get drunk on wild cherries with the cedar waxwings, hear “whistles of an unseen thrush rise / on a collective sigh of cedars.” I love the wisdom and compassion in these poems, and everything speaks emotionally. Poems like these are elixirs of beauty in our deeply troubled world.

–Diane Frank, Chief Editor, Blue Light Press  Author of While Listening to the Enigma Variations: New and Selected Poems