In The Small Blades Hurt, Erica Dawson picks up where her debut collection, Big-Eyed Afraid, leaves off: "The world's outside. I'm in." She moves from her border state Maryland to the true South, the Midwest, and back, delivering poems where a single dance's story can tangle with America's collective past. Dawson finds a home in the tradition of formal poetry, carving a place all her own, whether manic, yet cozy, in a poem with only one rhyme, or calm in a crown of sonnets' claustrophobia. Everything from Al Green to Abraham Lincoln is fair game. No matter the form, as Dawson eyes nuances of...
In The Small Blades Hurt, Erica Dawson picks up where her debut collection, Big-Eyed Afraid, leaves off: "The world's outside. I'm in." She moves from...