d by the ferocity of Hurricane Irma, Duhamel turns to Dante andterza rima, reconstructing the form into the long poem "Terza Irma." Throughout the book she investigates our near-catastrophic ecological and political moment, hyperaware of her own complicity, resistance, and agency. She writes odes to her favorite uncle--who was "green" before it was a hashtag--and Mother Nature via a retro margarine commercial. She writes letters to her failing memory as well as to America's amnesia. With fear of the water below and a burglar who enters through her second story window, she bravely faces the story under the story, the second story we often neglect to tell. Excerpt from "Terza Irma" I hoist my suitcase up the stairs, brace myself as I open the door, slip on water in the hall, and come face to face with my books, the white shelves drip- ping. I pull down Dante--the pages heavy, wavy as potato chips-- then pat down the walls, trying to gauge where the leak's come from--the apartment above? My ceiling's dappled with beige clouds I'm afraid will burst, a descent of more indoor rain. I make my way to the condo office, to lament the havoc, ask for some help. My neigh- bors are in varied states of panic and shock, agitated castaways.