Black Box
<div><p><br>“Belieu’s poems use a vernacular of their own to suggest a noir world of erotic innuendo and red lights waiting to be run.â€â€”<I>Neon</I></p> <I> </I><p><br> <I>Black Box</I> is a raw, intense book, fueled by a devastating infidelity. With her marriage shattered, Erin Belieu sifts the wreckage for the black box, the record of disaster. Propelled by a blistering and clarifying rage, she composed at fever pitch and produced riveting, unforgettable poems, such as the ten-part sequence “In the Red Dress I Wear to Your Funeralâ€:</p><p><br> <I>I root through your remains,</I><br> <I>looking for the black box. Nothing left</I><br> <I>but glossy chunks, a pimp’s platinum</I><br> <I>tooth clanking inside the urn. I play you</I><br> <I>over and over, my beloved conspiracy,</I><br> <I>my personal Zapruder film—look. . .</I></p><p><br>When Belieu was invited by the Poetry Foundation to keep a public journal on their new website, readers responded to the <I>Black Box</I> poems, calling them “dark, twisted, disturbed, and disturbing†and Belieu a “frightening genius.†<I>All true.</I></p></div>