Review: Annette Sisson

On Winter Sharp with Apples by Annette Sisson

by Tyler Truman Julian

Annette Sisson’s newest collection, Winter Sharp with Apples, is a vibrant glimpse at the challenges of daily life undercut with hope and “the tang of desire, of apple” (“Woolsthorpe Manor”). Sisson’s poetry is approachable and allows the reader to find relatable moments across the poems of the collection. Infrequent departures from narrative, structured forms and embrace of the lyric mode add depth to the universal themes explored in the poems, but the reader is prepared for these structurally and thematically challenging moments by Sisson’s otherwise steady craftsmanship. Sisson’s poetry is deeply human, and it’s through this humanness that the reader benefits from reading.

            The collection opens with vivid images of childhood. While these details are often depicted as difficult, there is also an underlying sense of progress and growth. In “Muscle Memory,” the speaker captures this dynamic of forward motion:

            We lug our stunted childhoods
                        like rusted spikes. Chains
            and mauls. We recoil from flat cars,
                        covered hoppers, runaways—
            fold into time, into pattern,
                        rhythm, the howl of engines,
            clang of push and pull.
                        There is no forswearing
            of air blast and signal,
                        of memory, the wailing movement
            of diesel, piston, freight.

The speaker knows memory can’t be left behind; it’s carried along on the train that moves someone forward into the ever-changing future. This hope, though understated in “Muscle Memory,” recurs throughout the collection, often more overtly. In “Our Hands,” the speaker recounts the birth of a grandchild alongside the death of her mother:

            Three months after you die, recede
            into silver mist, a grandchild will be born. 

            With fingertips that once grazed your cheek,
            I will touch this baby—and he will be yours.

Death and life are juxtaposed several times in the collection, nowhere more clearly than in “Death is not,” which explores the necessity of death for the continuation of life, the continued growth of nature. The speaker asks,
                                                Where do they go?
            bodies              residue
                        merge  with soil
                                                molecules
                                                                        break
                        into earthworm
                                                grass
                                                            tree
What of their glistening threads?
    The have of their leaving?
no wisp of fur in its curved beak—
    death is not    a barred owl
            on the forest floor
                        still
            beside     a shagbark

Nature serves as a metaphor for hope—perhaps a small hope, but a steadfast one—that life will persist despite adversity. This theme runs throughout the collection, revealing a universal truth about life and death.

       Winter Sharp with Apples offers a poignant slice of life, immersing readers in its raw and moving reflections on existence. Sisson weaves relatable images of life, death, and hope into familiar structures and natural imagery, making the collection both accessible and deeply resonate. Even as the book delves into difficult subject matter, the reader feels as though they have come to know a friend.

In case you missed it—here is Sisson’s poem from The Shore:

Portrait of My Father’s Glaucoma