In J.A. Hamilton's poems blood is red, black hearts are black. There is no flinching from things as bad as they can be, especially but not only for women. And yet, this passionate powerful writing radiates affirmation. This good o, good old world is livable still in acts of pure verbal magic.

J.A. Hamilton is not a poet content to whisper in your ear or take you on slow walks through pretty fields. She sits you down in her hardest chair, litters tacks on the floor about your naked feet, and holds you there petrified but alert as she speaks the body's news. - Leon Rooke

SHORTLISTED for the 1991 Pat Lowther Memorial Award for best book of poetry written by a woman in the previous year