Let the Mourning Come is a collection about grief. Grief as in mourning the loss of who you once were. Grief as in mourning trauma. Grief as in losing the people closest to you. It is about healing, and it is about discovering. This book is meant to serve as an embrace when you most need it, and least expect it.
Megan Falley, author of Drive Here and Devastate Me
(Write Bloody Publishing, 2018):
In 2010, performance artist Marina Abramovi¿ sat at the Museum of Modern art for seven hundred thirty-six and a half silent, static hours, while spectators took the chair opposite her, bearing witness. When I read "Let the Mourning Come," I am reminded of Abramovi¿ -- as the words inside contain an invitation to sit, starkly, across from the artist, and peer in at the impossible humanness. There is a generosity in allowing yourself to be so fully seen, and this collection operates as a walking tour through Kika Man's labyrinthine and beautiful brain. As the author transcribes both the madness of both the external and internal landscape, they carve out room for small joys -- avocados, kombucha, magpies, poetry. Kika promises "I will draw the flowers that come sprouting out of my head"
-- and that is exactly what this debut collection does. It paints a picture of what can grow in the garden of a mind unwilling to be tamed. Primarily written in a psych ward during a pandemic, these poems contain an introspection that could only be born from extreme isolation. This book makes a gift out of loneliness.
Neil Hilborn, author of Our Numbered Days and The Future (Button Poetry 2015 & 2018):
In this book, mourning is the simultaneous rejection and celebration of new distance. These poems illuminate both isolation and the ways we can try to reach beyond our loneliness. Kika writes "You asked me when I'm at home // In this body, never." and spends the rest of the book figuring out where home is. If you've ever watched an airplane get smaller until it disappears, then you need to read these poems.
