Maureen Harris’s first volume of poetry evokes a possible landscape, where the stories that subtly shape us blend with the moments that we are. Here is an Eden where Eve longs for the serpent’s green quiver, his sibilant caress, where a snake tires of his lover wearing/the same skin day-out, day-in. The poems in the first section of this book are sharp new takes on old stories, at once angry, witty and thoughtful. With grace, compassion and sparkle, the rest of the book explores the self in the world of the late twentieth century, the seeming contradictions of the third world, and the ordinary magic of an evening spent with friends.