The poems in Brittany Cavallaro's Girl-King are whispered from behind a
series of masks, those of victim and aggressor, nineteenth-century
madame and reluctant magician's girl, of truck-stop Persephone and
frustrated Tudor scholar. This "expanse of girls, expanding still" chase
each other through history, disappearing in an Illinois cornfield only
to re-emerge on the dissection table of a Scottish artist-anatomist. But
these poems are not just interested in historical narrative: they peer,
too, at the past's marginalia, at its "blank pages" as well as its
"scrawls and dashes." Always, they return to "the dark, indelicate
question" of power and sexuality, of who can rule the "city where no one
is from." These girls search for the connection between "alive and will
stay that way," between each dying star and the emptiness that can
collapse everything.