Suddenly it was fall, the season of death, the anniversary of things-going-to-hell.

Nothing prepared me for the loss of my mother. Even knowing that she would die did not prepare me.

With ferocity and extraordinary craft, Lizzie Harris has made a book of poems that resonates far beyond the personal stories it tells. Stop Wanting reveals, in every lyric, its author's profound metaphorical gifts. In its ironies and intensities, it brings to mind a writer like the young Sylvia Plath, though what is startling about Harris' s work is the way it combines those gifts with a muted, deft self-awareness. Most of all, these are wonderfully shaped, powerful, and surprising poems-a startling debut.

Faith does help mourners survive their loss, some studies suggest; but I imagine one still struggles.

One word I had throughout the first year and a half of my mother's death was 'unmoored.' I felt that I had no anchor, that I had no home in the world.

Suddenly it was fall, the season of death, the anniversary of things-going-to-hell.

And after my mother's death I became more open to and empathetic about other people's struggles and losses.