Michelle Phuong Ho’s Bone Symphony mines the wreckage of colonialism and imperialist warfare in Vietnam and attempts to reassemble the bones. Told in three movements spanning lyric, documentary, and hybrid forms, Bone Symphony uncovers a world turned upside-down by war: evil is good, saviors are toddlers, children die before their mothers, and civil servants—like the poet’s grandfather—become enemies of the state. The detritus of a shattered nation, family, and psyche serve as building blocks Ho rearranges with playful irreverence, giving rise to healing poetic turns. One can surrender not just to military powers, but to love. The prison cell where a dissident is held transforms into the womb of God. In a world where no symbol is stable, Bone Symphony reorients us toward curiosity, kinship, and the kind of mercy that sets free those held captive within our imaginations: “Every face / I’ve ever held / hostage,” the poet beholds, “is beginning to bleed.”