With an equal dose of fatalism and dark wit, Antigua captures the body's capacity to cage and cradle sadness.

Diannely Antigua's Good Monster grapples with the body as a site of chronic pain and trauma. Poignant and guttural, the collection “voyages the land between crisis and hope,” chronicling Antigua's reckoning with shame and her fallout with faith. As poems cage and cradle devastating truths—a stepfather’s abusive touch, a mother’s “soft harm”—the speaker’s anxiety, depression, and boundless need become monstrous shadows. Here, poems dance on bars, speak in tongues, and cry in psych wards. When “God [becomes] a house [she] can’t leave,” language becomes the only currency left. We see the messiness of survival unfold through sestinas, a series of Sad Girl sonnets, and diary entries—an invented collage form using Antigua’s personal journals. At the crux of despair, Antigua locates a resilient desire to find a love that will remain, to feel pleasure in an inhospitable body and, above all, to keep on living.