This is a startling book of poems. It doesn’t hesitate to speak directly of things which are uncomfortable and disquieting. But what stands out is the sense of a new poetic voice triumphantly finding its way. Sabrina, the first poem, sets the tone. It is rich and allusive. Here we have a river, “you’ll find me, / hair of knotted weeds, / body sculpted into the mudflats”, a thing of the natural environment. However, there are also fishermen “hooded against the sunrise” who protect themselves against that same environment. They “gather and drink lager / from cool boxes, haul salmon / to their arms for photographs”. They are creatures of possession and self-image who rejoice in their exploitation. The body of a woman is devoured, cut open, spat onto the bank. “Bed of kelp, salt on skin. / Her husband, / blood on the cap of his boots.” A cold eye is turned on men in these poems. But there is so much to excite in the collection. ‘At Burger King We Don’t Eat’ follows a few hours in the life of two friends. “We sip flat Fanta through the same straw, / watch people lick mayo from their fingers.” The cascading immediacy of the poem’s images carries the reader along, eager to find out what happens next. The ending - “Ketchup on her lower lip, aftertaste on my tongue” – holds a sensuous wealth of meaning. Some of the poems, such as ‘Sophie’, are deeply unsettling. Two friends read Girl Talk under an apple tree. “Sophie teaches me to kiss / with her lips, wet tongue / sliding over my back teeth”. The reader may have an idea of where the poem is going. But you shouldn’t assume with Taylor Edmonds. Then there is ‘Theodore’. The grandfather of the title joins the narrator sitting against an oak tree. “He says this side / of town is no place for a pretty girl / to be sunbathing alone”. With easy skill, Edmonds sketches a picture of the chain-smoking old man, hacking up spit, talking with deliberate inappropriateness to a much younger woman. I found this poem disturbing to read, as a man, simply because the scene is so recognisable. That feeling was only magnified by the extraordinary ‘The man tells your daughter / she looks grown up’ which challenges the very concept of what a poem is. The family, particularly female members, often provides the subject of these poems. “I’m in Springbank Cemetery with my mother, / grandmother, great aunties.” These are important relationships. “She (my grandmother) began writing me letters before I existed, / so that I might grow good, brave.” Even after death, strength pours from the grandmother to the granddaughter. “I read her letters to the sky / while the storm rolls in, I line / the house with an army of sandbags.” But what is presented more than anything else in this collection is truth, raw and familiar. In ‘Your daughter doesn’t come home’, Edmonds identifies with almost surgical precision the awful ache of a parent waiting for their child to return home, their imagination magnifying possibilities to an unbearable degree. She doesn’t restrict herself to any particular poetic form. ‘Homecoming’ is surreal in a wonderfully, matter-of-fact way. “Unpacking our insides from boxes, / I pop my kidneys in the kitchen cupboard.” The delicious oddness suits the material perfectly. And there is so much to relish here. There are passages with a delirious, dream-like quality. “Do you know how it feels / to be a passenger in your own / aching?” There is fierce anger in poems like ‘Again’ which outlines the experience of women walking in public. “I have died on this road / over and over”. Then there is the terror of ancient memories brought to mind in ‘Sweet Relief’. “It’s your mother’s ninety-ninth birthday / when she tells you she’s sorry”. Edmonds doesn’t waste a word in her poems and the titles are important. ‘One Day’ “You will look at your body / without seeing his hands”. She conjures up emotional depth with such confidence and skill. ‘Lay Out Your Unrest’ is the clarion call put out by Broken Sleep Books to all its authors. In this collection, Taylor Edmonds has responded to the challenge magnificently.