Something that struck me about Meg’s poetry was the repeating themes of small perspectives and remolding oneself through shattering. For instance, in “Astrohorologist”, Meg talks about the vastness and ancient age of space, talking about a “supernova that exploded 931 years before you were born” and a nebula that “outlives all concepts of measurement”. Later, in “Settler”, she emphasizes her “fissure of vision, a pinhole cavity” when observing snowflakes falling.
The idea of remolding and shattering caught my interest as well, especially when she describes parts of herself being “scrubbed stone down to the frothy marrow” only to then be “worried into genesis”. In Meg’s poetry, the format “collides and rives apart”, breaking apart the words to reform their structures and meanings in how they were put together. This is best illustrated in her allusion to the geode in “Tíbrá”, a mineral that has to be smashed apart to reveal the quartz inside.