The poems of Might Kindred wonder aloud: can we belong to one another, and "can a people belong to a dreaming machine?" Conjuring mountains and bodies of water, queer and immigrant poetics, beloveds both human and animal, Mónica Gomery explores the intimately personal and the possibility of a collective voice. Here anthems are sung and fall apart midsong. The speaker exchanges letters with her ancestors, is visited by a shadow sister, and interrogates what it means to make a home as a first-generation American.

Winner of the Raz/Shumaker Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry, the poems in Might Kindred are rooted in the body and its cousins, seeking the possibility of kinship, "in case we might kindness, might ardor together." Belonging and unbelonging are claimed as part of the same complicated whole, and Gomery's intersections reach for something divine at the center.

Mónica Gomery is a poet and rabbi living in Philadelphia on unceded Lenni Lenape land. She is the author of the collection Here Is the Night and the Night on the Road and the chapbook Of Darkness and Tumbling. Her poems have appeared in the Poetry Foundation's Poem of the Day, Waxwing, Adroit Journal, Foglifter, Best Small Fictions 2020, and elsewhere.