Between Latitudes by Michelle Latvala

Much like its titular terrain, Michelle Latvala’s debut poetry collection Between Latitudes is vast and untamable—a compelling compilation of environmental stewardship, embodied spirituality, and portrait of an artist in a blazing world. These poems are naked, soulful love letters—odes to the wild world, to those closest to her, to her animal body and the artist bursting forth. High-stakes poetry of strongly held feelings where conversations and ideas get sorted out with burning wit and inquisitive interrogations:

I’m from
a long life of mammals
who shifted awkwardly
from four legs to two,
still struggling to carry 
the weight of these brains
as we move through the world
upright, not quite right. (“Where I’m From, Lately”)

Latvala put down roots in Alaska two decades ago, though her Finnish ancestors shared the same circumpolar boreal forests for centuries. This is the land of civil twilight, where the sun is visible for nineteen hours during the summer solstice and five and a half during the winter. Place poems chock-full of chiaroscuro, the play between light, shadow, and color—this is a land where the eye becomes deceived, and even the most subtle coloring and softest contrasts are heightened by a hare’s fur spun white or the surreal days of darkness and how its bruised blue drains. A place where the sensory world is deceptive—perception fragile, time malleable, and the methods of measuring carried out through leaning into those we let into our weird little worlds as we witness nature’s chaotic cleaving:

A bear, or maybe

a rock, but likely a sow with cub

splayed on rock above tree line

out of winter’s reach. Pistachios, 
shelled one by one next to the fire, 
ample labor involved, as animal fur

grows—his hair, my pits, his beard,
my legs, all of it rolling together 
in bed, bodies more reachable

than ever. 

The weight of these brains / as we move through the world / upright, not quite right.

Latvala’s work is one of gritty mindfulness, a galvanizing call to tackle the climate crisis, tear down power structures, and liberate vulnerability. In less skilled hands, this cavalcade of ideas could border on capriciousness, but Latvala has such command of her voice that the eclectic threads come together and underpin the sense of primal prodding that defines this ambitious debut. Defiant, daring poetry—this invigorating new voice cannot help but scream from the highest vistas.

I’m looking for a spot, I say. 
A spot for what, you ask. 

Sensing irritability, I wonder.

A spot of shade. A spot
for quiet. A spot for scribbled words. 
A spot to listen. A spot to see

yesterday’s cairn, once a spine at my back, now
a finger on the horizon. I look, as I wind my way
along the drainage. Weather parts her hair
to offer me shade. I follow cursive grasses into last
year’s season, finding a place I can disappear. 

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Dayton J Shafer’s pieces have been featured in fringe festivals, barns, abandoned factories, Seven Days, Vermont Public Radio, Susan Calza Gallery, and Split Lip Magazine. He’s a former Writing Fellow at Vermont Studio Center, grantee from Montpelier Public Arts, and author of Homeslice: Monologues of Millennialhood (Alternating Current Press).