chemistry, a M.A. in English from Baylor, and a Ph.D. from University of Nebraska. She teaches at Hope College, in Holland, Michigan. She also studied piano at the Geneva Conservatory in Switzerland and is a volunteer for Caritas, Habitat for Humanity, and the United Way. For readers afflicted with cultural and/or aesthetic myopia, yes, "That Kind of Sleep" represents a challenge, I suppose: all those "exotic" tastes, colors, sounds, smells, rhythms, textures! I found Susan Atefat-Peckham's debut collection refreshing for exactly those qualities, plus the fact that it isn't yet another hip postmodern exercise, gentrified museum tour or splayfooted confessional. What "Sleep" is, for me, is sensory and emotional accessibiltiy, musically wrought and tactfully rendered. The title sequence that concludes the book is a tour de force that needs more space to do it justice than is possible here; instead, I'd like to focus on two shorter poems that appear in the second and third sections of "Sleep." "Candlemaker" is a lyric glimpse into the life of a young (perhaps prepubescent) wife. Here's the first stanza: "Her eager form leans into heat, / her back arched over the pans, / her arms stirring. She rolls / the burning red into the soft folds / of her hands, shaping it to her flesh / and bones, trying to forget her husband's / eyes when he wanted to try again." Atefat-Peckham has a fine ear, and it shows. The cadencing, the simple, clean language, the quietly deft breaks--all realize the sexual (especially