Next Time You Come Home
Lisa Dordal and Milly Dordal
Black Lawrence Press, 2023, 120 pages
$19.95

Reviewed by Yeva Johnson

Next Time You Come Home by Lisa Dordal and Milly Dordal is a beautiful collection that transforms a mother and daughter’s correspondence into a lyrical tour de force on grief and connection while spotlighting big and tender moments of the last part of the twentieth century. The beautiful cover artwork subtly reinforces the layers of meaning within many of the poems.

Next Time You Come Home is organized in two parts. Part I serves as a contextualizing introduction to the poems that follow, which are based on letters from Lisa’s mother that Lisa rediscovers twenty years after Milly’s death. The reader is informed that Milly was an alcoholic who had experienced multiple losses due to life’s vicissitudes. Milly and Lisa corresponded extensively in the 1980s and 1990s so that Milly’s habit of writing the date and time of each letter shines a new light, showing that the daytime mother, who was a respected community leader, and the nighttime mother, under the influence of alcohol, were more closely related than Lisa realized. In the process of typing up Milly Dordal’s letters, Lisa Dordal performed what she described as “a sculpting exercise” and a “distillation process” to transform her mother’s written communication into a poetic form between letters and poems that elucidate the themes she shares with us—including the natural world, grief and loss, racism, sexism, and substance use disorders—while also capturing her mother’s voice so that we, too, can meet this complex woman who sacrificed her dream of being a writer to raise four children.

Part II, called “Not This, Not That,” comprises the letters as poems. All the poem titles refer simply to the month and year they were originally composed, as Lisa has already prepared us for the gaps in the letters that serve as a “lovely metaphor for” her “relationship with and understanding of” her mother. The poems cover the time period during and after Lisa came out to her mother as a lesbian, so that lines such as “I would be delighted if, someday, you had a special friend, / and we could meet her” from March of 1996 demonstrate the tender way a mother shows her love for her queer daughter. Lisa deftly carries on her mother’s quirky sense of humor with lines like “How are your plants doing? / Mine are experiencing strange deaths” and “It rained many inches on Friday and Saturday – / if it had been snow, it would have been awful. / Instead it was only depressing.” One wonders if Milly intended a joke with “Play Reading is tonight: Awake and Sing by Clifford Odets. / It’s about a dysfunctional family. Dad has a role”.

Lisa privileges readers with a view of this intimate relationship that overlapped by the thirty-six years while they were both alive in lines like “…You were 10 when I started drinking, / maybe 9. I’ve put you through a lot of pain” and “Draw me a picture of your Oak chairs, so I can picture you / sitting, writing, reading in them –.” Milly and Lisa Dordal share their blend of letter poems with everyday life details that make them relatable to readers today, such as when they write, “we should be able to have a good time – / if we avoid discussing politics or evolution. / Maybe we can reminisce about the 50s” and “I’m sure the cookies will be crumbs, / but they were sent with love.” There are many other poems and many lines that are a pleasure to read and can be savored again and again.

Lisa Dordal honored her mother by making her a coauthor of the collection. These lines from a February 1990 poem sum up my admiration for this collection and this mother-daughter poetry duo: “I love the ‘Broken Pitcher’ notecard you sent. / The woman in the painting reminds me of you (and me).” Make Next Time You Come Home a part of your poetry library for a ready source of comfort and a reflection on love and loss.


Yeva Johnson, a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and musician whose work appears in Bellingham Review, Essential Truths: The Bay Area in Color Anthology, Sinister Wisdom, Yemassee, and elsewhere, explores interlocking caste systems and possibilities for human co-existence in our biosphere. Her debut poetry chapbook, Analog Poet Blues, is available at Black Lawrence Press.

Disclosure: Nomadic Press published Yeva Johnson’s debut chapbook, Analog Poet Blues, in 2023; Nomadic Press stopped operations the same month that Analog Poet Blues was released. Black Lawrence Press is now the publisher of Analog Poet Blues. The review author, Yeva Johnson, is also published by the publisher of Lisa Dordal’s book.

The Price of a Small Hot Fire
E.F. Schraeder
Raw Dog Screaming Press, 2023, 106 pages
$13.95

Reviewed by Yeva Johnson

I looked forward to reading E.F. Schraeder’s The Price of a Small Hot Fire, but when I read the author’s note, I stopped short. Horror poetry gives me pause. I love poetry, but I am one of those people who do not like horror, whether in film or written variety. I am haunted for years after any encounter with this artistic form, so I have been careful to curate and limit my exposures. While intellectually I knew that, as E.F. Schraeder says, “Horror poetry, like other horror media, provides a path to explore what frightens us with a distance that affords safety,” I am always spooked because I understand all too well that “Whether understated or blood-soaked, a horror poet’s personal take and artistic license may yield an intensity of pitch or punch that offers unusual or uncomfortable discovery.” It was an act of bravery for me to dive into Schraeder’s poetic world without rules, where no topic was off limits. Luckily, my bravery was handsomely rewarded.

The Price of a Small Hot Fire is E.F. Schraeder’s first full-length poetry collection, and they supply us with a panoply of poems in various forms with interlocking and overlapping themes replete with images of spells, witches, knives, hearts, fires, lions, Frankenstein, Narnia, stones, bone, wind, water, and ash that underlie a queer feminist take on mothers, estrangement, trauma, and grief. In the poem “Postmarked From Nowhere,” Schraeder taps into the particular sources of fear that writers and poets experience when a mother character serves as a metaphor for how our lives are marked by others, in lines like “She inserted commas into adolescence / until I craved erasers and disappearing ink.” In “Confessions of an Avon Lady’s Daughter,” the mother says, “I feel naked without makeup,” but in this kindhearted portrait, this same mother, when asked by the speaker to teach them how, replies, “No. I don’t want you to feel like that.” The poet repeatedly shares the pain of trauma with lines like “sliced into muscle with weights and blades” and the heady lack of fear at “the sensuous rush / of standing on the edge of cliff,” so it is only fitting that in a later poem Schraeder gifts us with the antidotal line “In the garden, I plant the cure for everything” to assuage our tender nerve endings.

In another poem, the poet reminds us that a mother is not wholly a monster with the tender lines “I leapt over each sidewalk crack / my youth spent on checkerboard moves / in the chess of childhood / where I always lost.” But, this is a horror collection, and one of the most horrifying poems is “Necessary Tools for the Reinvention of a Relationship,” where Schraeder transforms everyday objects into suppliers of fear and danger, so that “One crystal vase” will forever terrify me. “Cherry Blossoms (Mourning A Distant Mother)” captures the essence of estrangement and loss: “No one else grieves what’s always been gone.” By the time the reader comes to the poem “Forgiveness Spell” they are ready to ponder all the dimensions of Schraeder’s question, “Is loss so different than love?” Schraeder never drifts into the overly sentimental, but rather weaves layers upon layers of meaning within and between lines that pack a punch.

Whether or not one is a fan of horror, poetry, both, or neither, The Price of a Small Hot Fire is well worth reading and reading again. This insightful collection of horror verse leaves us ruminating on every mother, every fire, every fear, every love, allowing us to reflect and so be nurtured by Schraeder’s work. Read The Price of a Small Hot Fire, and you will likely find yourself agreeing with E.F. Schraeder when they say “Life is full of poetry and horror. It’s up to any of us how closely we choose to look.”


Yeva Johnson, a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and musician whose work appears in Bellingham Review, Essential Truths: The Bay Area in Color Anthology, Sinister Wisdom, Yemassee, and elsewhere, explores interlocking caste systems and possibilities for human co-existence in our biosphere. Her debut poetry chapbook, Analog Poet Blues, is available at Black Lawrence Press.

Floating Bones
Rae Diamond
First Matter Press, 2023, 92 pages
$18.00

Reviewed by Yeva Johnson

Rae Diamond’s Floating Bones is a magnificent multisensory experience fitting for this hybrid book of poetry, art, and essays. I invite any reader to enjoy it as I did from the first touch to the last page. To hold Floating Bones in your hands is a sensual pleasure, the velveteen surface of the front and back covers will caress your fingertips as you admire the intriguing cover art graced by the rib cage and spine of a skeleton with scattered butterflies at the entrance of an open door to a cloud-filled sky, while the back cover sports a smattering of even more lepidopters. Open the book and see that Rae Diamond has offered a multiplicity of their gifts as both poet/writer and artist. The poem “forward” tells us the author wrote these poems “without a home,” “when everywhere was a door,” and invites us to “come / in / come / in / come / in.”

I recommend you read this book for the first time as I did, from cover to cover, allowing you to enjoy the beautiful drawings of bones of various animals, body parts, and other objects that could be found at the seashore or that might drop from the sky. Rae Diamond’s exquisite illustrations are sometimes exact anatomical depictions of the natural world and at other times fanciful renderings of imagination on paper, like teeth with wings or butterfly wings that protrude from a backbone. Some of the bones are in shapes that may not be familiar, so it was fun to guess which part, animal, or object it might be. Diamond includes an index of illustrations in the extensive endnotes which provide correct answers to all the guesses.

Read the book again and you’ll notice that some of the poems complement the illustrations by mimicking their form and some of the illustrations seem to adorn the poems and inspire their lyric imagery. There are double delights in simply reading the book through visually to enjoy the artwork and then reading it again by looking at the book’s pictures while appreciating the shapes of the poems as well as how many poems have some words printed in faint gray ink. These turn out to be delicate poems-within-poems which Rae Diamond labels bone poems, also graciously indexed in the endnotes. They also included short lines that are crossed out and upside down on pages which serve as solemn meditations on home and underpin our understanding of the poems, essays, and art throughout the book.

You are now ready to read Floating Bones again with a focus on all the words and their layered meanings and the new words that Rae Diamond invents that add textures and rhythms, such as in the poem “windstepping” where you’ll find the gorgeous “here among this shimmerrhythm of frogs singing / for eggs to fructify a chorus of confirmation.” In “Enchanted telephone” enjoy lines like “at dusk deft bats / might / careen / through / echoecho / locating insects” as they drape the page like a delicate lace. Notice in “we will echolocate this moment” how Rae Diamond flows from line to line, accelerating until landing at a satisfying “k”. Read the book again, this time aloud, to understand how the sonic energy of Diamond’s work complements their art in both poetic and drawn forms. Floating Bones is filled with Rae Diamond’s compound words and phrases like “sunscorch,” “dogwag in boat,” “twilighthush,” “spiritshatter,” and “windstir” in the poem “wing through walls.” In “your head is opening” the whole poem becomes a pleasure for mouth and tongue as you read aloud lines like “a buzzbunch of bees / bumble dances the dust out / from under your diaphragm.”

Toward the end of Floating Bones, Rae Diamond includes an essay entitled “dialogues of belonging: the complicated act of taking up space on a finite planet” and the endnotes provide additional information about Diamond and her family and the themes of having a home, being without a home, and feeling at home and link these ideas with broader social issues such as affordable housing, the climate crisis, and land stewardship. Rae Diamond’s writing is so evocative you feel that you are part of the scene in poems like “end of summer,” or you feel that you can almost touch a feather or an artistic fish skeleton, detailed and beautifully decorated all at once. Read Floating Bones to yourself, enjoy the ripples over your vision. Read Floating Bones aloud and enjoy the ripples over your ears and tongue. Read Rae Diamond’s Floating Bones many times and be prepared to “linger / in / mystery” long after you’ve closed the book’s pages with a deeper understanding of what it means to be unhoused.


Yeva Johnson, a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and musician whose work appears in Bellingham Review, Essential Truths: The Bay Area in Color Anthology, Sinister Wisdom, Yemassee, and elsewhere, explores interlocking caste systems and possibilities for human co-existence in our biosphere. Her debut poetry chapbook, Analog Poet Blues, is available at Black Lawrence Press.