06/28/2014

Dad hawked spit at snow,
surprised he hadn’t disappeared
and north winds didn’t stop smelling
of a cop’s nightshift.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

It was really difficult for me to write a poem this short, and one without iambs and rhyme.  But I was reading a lot of haiku, appreciating its brevity and images, and its focus—the way it can imply a narrative without explicitly delivering one.  And I’d never written about my dad.  I figured it was time for him to have a turn on the page.

BIO:

Erica Dawson is the author of two poetry collections: The Small Blades Hurt and Big-Eyed Afraid. Her poems have appeared in Best American Poetry, Virginia Quarterly Review, and numerous other journals and anthologies. She is an assistant professor at University of Tampa.
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09/25/2013
'Crescent Moon', Angie Mazakis


12/03/2010
'Mid-Term Depression', Eric Bliman


11/04/2009
'Corrective', Sidney Wade