Beautiful Things: “Family as a Western in Which No One Talks”

After reading “Family as a Western in Which No One Talks” in The New Yorker this afternoon, I found myself returning to it—reading and rereading every line, listening and re-listening to Jacob Sunderlin read his writing. Over the years, listening as I read poems in The New Yorker has taught me how to find the rhythm and breath that the author intended. I still feel completely inadequate discussing poetry, but I’m going to take a shot at explaining why I enjoy this one in particular.

Go read and listen to the poem →

Jacob Sunderlin has crafted a window into another world. He tells a story and paints a picture in a few words. But it’s more than that. He conveys the feelings of existing in that world, of living in the American West, of being a member of that family.