No One Gains Weight in the Shoulders reviewed on nibble

Jeff Fleming, editor of the litzine nibble, reviewed No One Gains Weight in the Shoulders:

No One Gains Weight in the Shoulders
Leah Angstman
March 25, 2009 
Though we cannot truly judge a book by its cover, we can perhaps allow the cover to influence our mood in those short moments just before we enter the book itself. In this case, we have a beautiful cover scanned, it appears, from an impressive painting. A beautiful young woman stares across her shoulder toward the opening of the book. Her look could be interpreted in many ways, though she is blue, literally. Her cheek and neck painted in an azure tone.
Once we turn back the cover and begin reading, we see this image as an obvious portent. The poems inside are beautiful, all, open to interpretation and, in many cases, melancholy. Or simply: blue. A prime example is the poem “mr. ledger, sir, it’s too late for your autograph,” in which Ms. Angstman writes: 
i didn’t worship you
i waited till that tide fell in and out
to write you now for your autograph 
This is a fantastic poem, not just about Heath Ledger’s untimely death, but about celebrity in general. 
This book contains far too many wonderful lines to mention. The poem “airports” is absolutely packed: 
i am sitting cross-legged in the ugly levittown-style
mass seating projects area of gate e2b
in the entirely unnavigable boston logan 
My favorite poem of the collection is “a bronchitis story” because it reveals, perhaps, a great deal about Ms. Angstman and gives us a peek into her younger years: 
silly doctors of course
not knowing i could read lips
my secret plan for world domination
was not to tell them
and my thought was
how cool it would be
to crack my own ribcage
with the power of my wind
and my heaving lungs
i desperately wanted to try it
like it was my own superpower 
One can easily imagine the connecting line that travels back from today’s talented poet to this precocious, pigtailed girl who may or may not have tied towels around her neck as capes and flown about the house, up and down the stairs. This poem has such a wonderfully fresh perspective. 
Certainly, I cannot end this review without mention of the poem “on poet justin.barrett,” which is deservedly praiseworthy: 
whose words are like cancer
and candy squeezed up
into cellophane together
as one glistening pitched package
marketed to a
cavitied and chemo’d
shopper in a
tidy book aisle 
That is brilliant. I wish someone thought so highly of my poetry and, further, I wish I could craft such lines regarding Ms. Angstman’s work in particular. Just to try and do them justice. 
Flipping again through this collection, I see a dozen more poems I want to quote, but instead I will end by saying it comes as no surprise to see that Ms. Angstman is the artist who painted the cover image. The story comes full circle and, while a picture may be worth a thousand words, each word in this collection was chosen with such care as to be worth a thousand pictures each.