Reynolds debut collection is a hearty offering of narrative poetry focusing on the past and the history of place. The first section introduces this theme literally with a focus on fossil hunting. In “How to Hunt Fossils” Reynolds delves into the do’s and don’t’s of his hobby with straightforward advice, such as where to look for fossils and how to avoid mishaps with this dangerous hobby, building up to a payoff as, driving home with one’s discoveries, “Everything is alive—you, your friend, / The past, the future”. Reynolds goal isn’t to plunder the past; it’s much more respectable and even noble. His goal is connection. In “Journey” he continues these ideas, describing new discovery;

In your hand,
The fossil is grey, pitted,
Whorled like a spring,
A cocoon ready
To open

Reynolds language is perfectly controlled; he creates a concise framework which allows vivid descriptions such as this to jump off the page. He goes on to describe the search which has taken days and introduces reverence to the poem by warning the reader, “Lest you feel strong,/ It (the fossil) is older than you,/ And wiser.”

The second section moves from fossil hunting to chronicle the history of a ghost town. Here, Reynolds’ focus is on humanity. Several of these poems chronicle personal histories and town histories of relevant and not so relevant events in Kansas’ past. Reynolds includes several compelling persona poems of long-dead characters and populates historical events with human characters; “The Blizzard of 1888” tells the story of a school teacher and Samuel, a hard-headed student. She expels the student, sends him on his way home with a note attached to his chest, and then turns to watch him leave: “…with a shout, she (the teacher) spots him/ Slipping away beneath the gray sky/ Widening and stretching with a storm”. She recognizes the signs of an impending blizzard, and gathers the other children around her as they all become trapped in the school house;

When the firewood runs out
And their fingers turn blue,
She holds them close.

But it is Samuel’s name
She calls, over and over,
When the children grow quiet
And the howl of her conscience
Tugs at the chinks in the wood.

Reynolds language is spare and evocative with no missteps.

The third section is called “Happy Hour at Vera’s”. These poems chronicle recent history with a smattering of autobiography. Here, Reynolds comes into his own. The title poem of this section describes a waitress who resembles “a spindly, underfed hen,” and yet, when she dances for her customers, becomes a redemptive force. They pass her around like a cigarette, taking turns dancing with her: “Vera grasping each as if from some duty,/ Carrying him like he was a broken twig…The way a dove culls sticks for a nest.”

And redemption is at the core of this collection. But it’s a redemption that comes through personal interaction; Reynolds’ subject is the personal, whether he’s writing about a million-year-old fossil, a ghost town, or his own childhood; he imprints humanity on his poems, tossing out slices of life like Santa tossing out candy at a parade. His poems ache with that sense of belonging that comes from taking the time to get to know one’s neighbors, even if one’s neighbors are stones. This collection is a welcome relief from the angsty fare many poets churn out; Reynolds is methodically solving any alienation issues he might have (and therefore instructing us in how to do likewise) by examining the world around him, reveling in its mystery and wonder. It is a welcome relief. I look forward to reading more of Mr. Reynolds’ work.