GLASS

Kristina continues to dance with the monster of crystal methamphetamine, her fragmented emotions and cloudy denial displayed keenly by Hopkins’s shards of free verse. Despite feeling warmth for her newborn baby and having been off meth for months, 17-year-old Kristina can’t bear “the mindless / tedium that is my life” and seeks relief in “Mexican meth . . . 90 percent pure.” This ice is far stronger than the “street-lab crank” she started on. Her mother kicks her out, keeping baby Hunter. Kristina moves in with Brad, a cousin of her boyfriend Trey, and the three smoke together. As Kristina spirals ever-downward, the monster claims her car, her minimum-wage job and any residual awareness of her infant son. Her teeth chip and she needs glass regularly just for “maintenance. . . . I’m scared // to shut all the way / down. Scared I might dream. / Scared I might not // wake back up.” Hopkins’s minimalist verse perfectly demonstrates Kristina’s dissociation and muddled despair. Hypnotically sad, with a realistic lack of closure. (Fiction. YA)