Andrea Jurjevic is an Atlanta poet. She won the 2015 Philip Levine Prize for Poetry for her new book, Small Crimes. Andrea is a native of Croatia, and some of her poems are set in the Balkan War of the 1990's. The grit in these lines is hard-earned and well-written. Andrea manages to retain a humanness and even sexiness in the horror. This is a good book. You can buy it here.
From "More Ferarum"
People are disappointingly human under the clothes they wear, but in / here, my sweet fickle angel, tricked by the side-casting moonlight // your shoulders turn to feathers through the indoor air. This / milky light, like latex leaking from opium fruit, pours across your face, // marks your pale chest.
From "Small Crimes"
A fence angled like a broken jaw, / mildew on rocks otherwise porcelain-white. // Blackthorns squat and daisies sway, / and the peasant's neck is bowed at the nape, // lined like a riverbed, his soul restored / in heat and salt. The mountain fakes ascension.
From "Peeling an Orange"
As the engine runs, you realize / you were meant to be with her, / at least one warm afternoon. // Like today . . .