Julia Wendell loves a kitchen messy with oils, herbs, salts, skillets, pots and pans as much as she loves setting a formal table. This says a lot about her poetry. Wendell writes from the gut. Hers is a messy one of love and bile, family and work. Yet her poems manage to arrive at a big oak table of form, structure, balance and tradition. She wouldn’t write a poem about crabs without scattering starfish and coral around the place settings.