by Jael Montellano Picture the 2011 film Melancholia’s opening; the slow-motion fall of the black horse, the suspended moths in midair, the electricity worming from Dunst’s fingertips as Wagner’s Tristan & Isolde score murmurs. This is my experience of reading Alina Stefanescu’s newest poetry collection, My Heresies, in this transformative period of time. Read under
