Heather’s Christle’s second collection, The Trees The Trees, is ecstatic, breathless, full of incandescent humor and wonder, full of miniature moment’s hums, pocked with graceful elisions and gasps; there is spellbound play and intense intimacy in each gap-toothed, center-justified prose poem. Read and love her seemingly spontaneous utterances spun from her rapt attention to daily life, nature, solitude, romance, to her own reeling and enchanting imagination.
– Cathy Park Hong, author of Dance Dance Revolution
If you’re thinking about a new tattoo, may I recommend dropping your finger onto any random phrase in Heather Christle’s new book? That’s how keen her ear for the off-the-cuff aphorism is, how neatly her lines break into glistening parts. You get the impression of the oracle at Delphi trying her hand at stand-up or jamming the broadcast of the nightly news: Christle’s gift for welding surreal visions to living speech rhythms keeps unlocking new surprises, page after page. At least once per poem, you feel like the triple-bars just lined up in the slot-machine window, and you laugh or cry out.
– John Darnielle, of The Mountain Goats