Full of wit and wordplay, P.C. Vandall’s The Blue Moth of Morning reveals the anarchy that often reigns behind an outward illusion of female self-control. These poems remind us that love is not blushing brides, rosy-red cheeks and ruby lips; that idols can tire of being hailed like cabs, evoked in the night and preyed upon by sinners; that pants can sing a woman’s shame; and that even salmon know when it’s a good time to run.

By turns appreciative and deprecatory of the sundry facets of life, Vandall writes as someone who recognizes that marriage can be a frying pan you swing at your spouse—and that you can miss the mark but still make a point.