These poems come from a place of separation. They are written by an exile who is a father. We hear the deaths of brother and wife, the juxtaposition of cradle and casket, the burial shovel with the baby bottle. It is American to look forward with roots backward. To embrace the country that supported the oppression of one’s homeland. All this Majid Naficy does with the paired down lucid crafted language of a poet who speaks slowly and clearly, who evince surprise at being alive.