The poems in Kaie Kellough's third collection are ghosts that issue from suburban oblivion. They are released from their non-existence by suicides in the back seats of sedans. They wander, and seek a language for their wandering. The words they find are often made of smoke. They drift between North and South America looking for their ancestry in the Amazon Rainforest, the Atlantic Ocean, and the prairies, foothills, and badlands of Western Canada. They haunt the hostile suburbs of Calgary and they finally come to rest in the snowed-in, bricked-in boroughs of Montreal.
