“Everything that stands firm in The Atlantic House is surrounded by loss, waste, and wreckage. Reading these vulnerable, resistant poems, one thinks of Otto Neurath’s image of a ship that must be rebuilt on the open sea, and of Eliot’s ‘fragments I have shored against my ruins,’ except that it is more than fragments that Good means – dares – to salvage.”—Franklin Bruno
“With a bee inside her fist, Good makes “a place from which to speak.” When we moor at her Atlantic House, the evergreens are blasted, and the birds are full of blood, but the ashes are flakes of Pharaoh’s gold. In this strange and shifting place, things twist beautifully at our feet.” —Camille Guthrie