Milkweed family, you’ve stunned me. I had no idea a book could get into the world this quickly and this beautiful. In our very short time together, you’ve exerted yourselves like gods to make this book happen. It matters to you. I matter to you. It couldn’t be faked. In a period of life marked by meaninglessness and incalculable loss, you gave me a project, a permanence, a stability, a bit of self-esteem, a bit of joy. Daniel, my general, you moved heaven and earth and always had an extra moment to ask me how my day was. Aoife and Joanna and Joey, you took up the tasks of making this book be beyond my wildest expectations. Martha Collins, dear pressmate and shadchan, thank you for believing in this work without first giving me the chance to charm the crap out of you. I don’t think any publisher on this green earth has ever made a rookie writer feel the way you’ve all made me feel. You’ve convinced me I’m royalty. I am.

Elizabeth Metzger, dear best friend, dear chosen sister, this book is almost as much yours as mine. Every poem in this book, as soon as a first draft was written, was posted to your inbox. I’d mail at midnight and by morning, your hands were on the poem, your brain and heart were in the poem, it was irrevocably Elizabethed. For reading my mind, and becoming my mind, and extending my mind. For always demanding drama and beauty and brilliance, for piercing me with your insight. I am so grateful. And for holding my hand through more chemos than I can count, I am so grateful. Without Elizabeth, there is no Max.

And Andrew Kahn and Shon Arieh-Lerer, without you there is no Max. For the past four years we’ve built our minds together. You’ve taught me that there is no beauty without comedy, and no comedy without beauty. You are my sweet hunters. With my last breaths you will tickle me, so that the raggedness becomes confused. You edited this book, you taught me how to read my work out loud, you slept in my bed when I had scans the next morning. I love you, superheart.

I thank Louise Glück, who gave me my voice. You taught me that I was an artist. You made me the artist I am. Your passion for my work is what allows me to see it. For the countless hours and dozens of drafts you took this book through, I’m so grateful I’m speechless. Your DNA is deep in every page. But while I have so many brilliant notes in your hand in my margins, my very favorite is your signature at the bottom of my wedding certificate.