My life as larva has ended.
Silken girdle around my middle,
pupa blends with vegetation.
The greening gift of greener cloth,
my chrysalis—the last instar.
A swaddled change that can’t be seen.
Internal systems rearranging.
Leather ripe, eclose my bind.
Shrunken leaf, laundry wet.
Pump in air, escape the crippling,
drain of red. It’s time, it’s time.
Dew receives meconium.
Dawn, the quiet. Imago. Up.
“The poems in Pupa, her first collection, are spiky little meditations so taut and tightly controlled they are almost claustrophobic…The poems’ effect is all the more intense as a result…. This impressive collection should put her on the Canlit map.”
— The Toronto Star
“An underrated poet; the super-compressed lyrics of this book make a most unusual music and are quite convincing treatments of grief.”
— Zachariah Wells
“The best advice that I can give on this book is to go read it, let Graham explain Graham to you.”
— Grey Borders
“…Graham is a young poet whose work should be closely attended to.”
— Arc Poetry Magazine
“…Graham’s Pupa is a debut collection of graceful concision and surprising wisdom.”
— The Times-Colonist
“Graham has the haiku sensibility: not the Orientally measured form which, in English, can appeal only to the eye, but the talent for the evocative image succinctly expressed… Her best work is at once brief, yet resonant…the sophistication of their brevity, remind me of Roethke.”
— The Fiddlehead