Liquid Mercury Girl by Marianne Aweagon Broyles

In Marianne Broyles’ Liquid Mercury Girl we learn to love in loneliness, turn the pages of the bible and find our fathers instead, see the faces of our ancestors in our mother’s troubled face, “trying to rise like a hyacinth in [our] throat[s].” This is a lovely collection where the voice yearns, sings, and mourns the way one does when one has lived just long enough to know both passion death intimately. Broyles tells us she “wanted her to hurt as much as I hurt/for knowing she was going to leave me, leave us, very soon, probably before the first hard frost in Connecticut.” Broyles' language cuts us deep, in fact, to the bone. But it is there, where her poems live, that we are able to see ourselves, and our aching, human lives for what they are; beautiful.
 —Erika T. Wurth, author of You Who Enter Here


© Mongrel Empire Press 2014