Time Is a Mother

by Ocean Vuong

Softly lit desk with Ocean Vuong’s Time Is a Mother resting beneath an open window. The light is dappled and fragmented, evoking the emotional weight and quiet rupture within the poems.

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What It’s About

In this second poetry collection, Ocean Vuong writes through grief, queer identity, memory, and love, but never with sentimentality. These poems exist in the aftermath of loss, especially the death of his mother, but they don’t stay fixed in mourning. They wander, rupture, question.

Vuong experiments more here than in Night Sky with Exit Wounds. Some pieces stretch into prose poems or fragment across the page. What connects them all is the ache of being alive and how language can both hold and fail that ache.

My Take

Grief, queerness, and survival - spoken with a whisper that echoes.

This one didn’t hit me all at once. It moved slowly, then snapped me open. There’s vulnerability, but also clarity. Vuong doesn’t explain his pain, he just offers it, clean and precise. Some poems I had to read twice. Some I didn’t understand until hours later. But that’s the point. This isn’t about clarity, it’s about presence.

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Where to Find It:

Buy on AmazonBookshop.org Maybe at your local library (WorldCat.org)
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