Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley door pickup 10am - 7pm 3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
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  • Open Daily: 10am - 10pm
    Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm

    3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
    612-822-4611

Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm
3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611
America, a Love Story

America, a Love Story

Dungy, Camille T.

Hardcover

Series: Wesleyan Poetry

General Poetry

Publisher Price: $26.00

ISBN10: 0819502154
ISBN13: 9780819502155
Publisher: Wesleyan University Press
Published: Mar 24 2026
Pages: 104
Weight: 0.67
Height: 0.57 Width: 6.37 Depth: 9.20
Language: English

New poems on love, family, and art from the author of Soil: The Story of a Black Mother's Garden

America, A Love Story is Camille T. Dungy's powerful testament to living and loving as a Black woman and mother in today's America, and her first book of poetry in almost a decade. Piercingly honest and deeply compassionate, this poetry moves through the mounting griefs of contemporary American life with unwavering clarity. The book is part indictment, part celebration--full of gratitude, fear, resistance, and hope. Dungy explores intimacy, parenting, racism, history, and the natural world with clarity and depth. Some poems reflect on the past; others respond to the work of contemporary Black artists. Many are formally playful, including a series of 700-character poems inspired by the 700 hours of sleep a mother loses in her child's first year. Gorgeous, bright, and bold, these poems speak from the edges--between mother and child, body and earth, self and country. They hold tension and tenderness in equal measure, creating a space for love amidst uncertainty.

[sample poem]

To enter our own empty house

She was seven when we stopped
using keys. One less thing to lose.
Now we punch a combination.
Easy, but hopefully not so easy
a stranger could guess. This is where
I should stop. They are bound
to be angry, my beloveds. I am
giving away all our secrets again.
Vulnerability is the root of much fury.
=
I was small. A stone in the yard
hid a metal case with a lid
that slid like a matchbox top
to reveal our key. Lifting that rock
I thought of bashing someone's head.
I thought of harm lurking, dressed
in the body of some stranger.
=
Sometimes, I wrestle my daughter.
I make her tiny body work itself
out from under the weight I make
of my own. In this way I try
to teach her how it feels to break free.America, A Love Story

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