Many Americans don't mourn in public anymore - we don't wear black, we don't beat our chests and wail.

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

The people we most love do become a physical part of us, ingrained in our synapses, in the pathways where memories are created.

Loss doesn't feel redeemable. But for me one consoling aspect is the recognition that, in this at least, none of us is different from anyone else: We all lose loved ones; we all face our own death.

The truth is, I need to experience my mother's presence in the world around me and not just in my head.

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.

A mother is a story with no beginning. That is what defines her.