intimately narrates the experience of being undocumented, or precariously documented, in America. In poems that consider migration as an ongoing process rather than a finite event, Anni Liu writes exquisitely and on fear (useful and paranoid) and agency, loneliness, and the way the violence of the carceral state shapes our most intimate relationships to each other and to the land. As she does, she revisits moments of unexpected poignancy: searching for turtles in a drainage ditch, picking crabapples along a rural highway, smelling the namesake flower of her mother, who is half a world away.