The Grind

Poetry. It was the poem ‘Rivers’ that got me thinking about Michael Cirelli’s gifted flow: ‘I’m floating down the Pawtuxet River / In a basket made of plastic / Straws, clear as our front windows.’ THE GRIND is anchored and flooded by the tributaries of place; the ebb and flow of a family’s lifework. Flow is the word for this book’s heart and dexterity; flow is the word for this book’s straightforward, straight up grace.–Terrance Hayes