'Paraphernalia' is a fine, capacious handbag/hold-all of a word. Practical as well as attractive, it can stretch to accommodate all kinds of contents, many of which Joanne Limburg pulls out and considers in "Paraphernalia": telephones and tin-openers, vacuum cleaners and breast pumps, needles and drips, alarms and scanners. There are objects that help us and encumber us, that we lean and hide behind, that we love and treasure, or punish and blame. Joanne Limburg's poems look at the ways in which our bodies and minds, too, can themselves be broken down into odds and ends, can be useful or useless clutter. She examines our different parts, our skin and hair, our faces, our brains and blood cells, our thoughts and our words.