'Paraphernalia' is a fine, capacious handbag/hold-all of a word.
Practical as well as attractive, it can stretch to accommodate all kinds
of contents, many of which Joanne Limburg pulls out and considers in
Paraphernalia: telephones and tin-openers, vacuum cleaners and breast
pumps, needles and drips, alarms and scanners. There are objects that
help us and encumber us, that we lean and hide behind, that we love and
treasure, or punish and blame. Joanne Limburg's poems look at the ways
in which our bodies and minds, too, can themselves be broken down into
odds and ends, can be useful or useless clutter. She examines our
different parts, our skin and hair, our faces, our brains and blood
cells, our thoughts and our words.