Italics is a collection of poems that makes no attempt to hide what it believes: that each living thing is a school unto itself; that our existence is a factual miracle; that our lives are our most important sermons; that the right words in the right order can nudge the world a little. Alison Davis reminds us that darkness is part of the Great Mystery, inviting us in its own way to learn to see. These poems engage in a kind of vision that values not just the flood of amber off the rugged coast at dusk, or the self-love notes that a child hangs on her bedroom wall. It also measures the plight of endangered species, the purpose of petty arguments, the weight of the shame that burdens us, and the threat and reality of war. The audacity of Italics calls us to know that joy without sorrow or sorrow without joy are half-truths so pernicious that we might as well call them lies—and refuse to be deceived.
In its interplay between the luminous and the numinous, these poems offer readers opportunities to believe and doubt with equal fervor, to delight in what can be named and respect what must remain unnamed, and, through it all, to befriend the Great Mystery beyond and yet among us. In a world that prizes proof and certainty above all else, Davis offers us rare and cherished invitations to treasure the givenness of life with what it brings of losses and gains. In these pages, penguins can speak and poets can keep silent; stones can speak and death never has the last word. This is how we begin to wonder, together, about a future that is asking to be born.
