In Anna Jackson’s fifth collection of poetry Thicket , a rich and leafy life is closing in on the poet. But a thicket is also something to walk out of, and Jackson offers us fairytale breadcrumb tracks to follow, through poems that consider badminton at dusk, Virgil at bedtime, theory over wine; shimmering, multi-faceted poems of swans and puppets, sons and brothers, a woman who has become a tree. Thicket is an accomplished book from a poet of unease, who constantly turns her attention to the brambled path, the track less-followed, the subterranean presences in everyday life.