In Every Elegy Is a Love Poem, Sneha Subramanian Kanta writes grief as an ecology of continuance, where a mother's death sets language moving through rain, roots, whale-song and the salt grammar of oceans. Built from un-elegies, invocations, fragments after Sappho, mythic and documentary textures, and a late epistolary sequence, the book keeps returning to water as both witness and archive, a medium that carries migration, inheritance, and the pressure of history without offering the comfort of resolution. Tamil, Hindi and English co-exist as lived strata rather than ornament, and the poems' lucid intensities move between domestic ritual, spiritual enquiry and climate unease with an exact, luminous music. What emerges is a formally varied, emotionally unsentimental work that understands devotion as attention, and love as the ongoing labour of naming what remains.