Haunted Bones. By Chris Tusa. Hammond, LA: Louisiana Literature Press, 2006. $11.00 0-945083-15-7.

In his second chapbook, Chris Tusa's poems are haunted by issues of place and time, mental illness, hypochondria and sickness. The poems are littered with southern references: satan's hipbone, gumbo, voodoo, and New Orleans references, along with fairy tale imagery such as Snow White, Henny Penny and mythological references. But it is when Tusa deals with "real" characters that he is at his best.

In "Kindergarten Portrait of my Mother at Mardi Gras" Tusa writes: "...the three mangled fingers of her left hand/clutching a yellow purse,/her right arm raised over her head/as if to shield herself/from the silver shower of stars/raining down..." It continues: "Looking at it now, it's clear./But who could have possibly known then/the dark shades of meaning/lurking in the shadow of her face,/ the quiet relevance of the pearl necklace/swimming around her neck,/ the orange birds drifting above her/like question marks?" The image is striking and mysterious, resonating with the reader long after the poem has been read.

In "Christmas in the Psych Ward" Tusa describes a schizophrenic girl; "Her hair is a black brain of braids,/ her voice slow and mechanical/as if she's reading from flash cards/pinned on the wall of her skull." The girl is "convinced someone's planted microphones/in each yellow kernel of corn./I sit with her while she eats, watch her smash/each yellow kernel with the tines of her fork.//Surely, on Christmas Day, it's the least I can do..." Here is a situation of great tragedy, and yet Tusa has rendered it in an amusing and un-self-absorbed manner. It reminds me of the old saying -- sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

The standout, by far, is "Black Mare" a lean poem describing a trapped horse: "We found her startled/in a muddy field...her legs tangled/in a clump of barbed wire." The poem continues: "Her mane was matted/with dirt and leaves,/ her muscled back/a dry map of mud.//Around us, crickets/swarmed in the tall grass...Half-drunk and sweating,/we stood in the red air/sipping beer, snipping/strands of wire with pliers//while she lay stilled,/as if lost in a dream,/her eyes rolled white/against the empty sky." Here, Tusa abandons the well-trod imagery of Southern mythology and settles into his own voice to reveal a deep compassion and humanity.

There are several standouts in this collection, and I wonder what the future will bring from Mr. Tusa.