Little Deaths is a collection of poems that provide the reader with insight into loss: of love, of stories never told, of the dogs who become so much more than simple pets. The poems don't end there however, they carry the reader forward, into a place where grief grows and blossoms, and eventually blooms into something more-healing and hope. Without ever tipping over into sentimentality, Shilo Niziolek weaves poems that will make you simultaneously weep with sorrow and then step outside barefoot and tremble in awe at the absurdity and beauty of living. This collection shows us what real love looks like and how once a dog or person has burrowed into your heart, you'll never ever want it any other way. **
Shilo Niziolek's Little Deaths offers up a striking combination of formal experiment, incisive observation, and exquisite tenderness. Full of elegy, erasure, and homage, this collection makes clear that longing and grief are twin states, sometimes indistinguishable. The speaker insists again and again on the power of poetry to conjure what's desired and resurrect what's lost. Language in these poems is both a compensatory force and a political tool, a kind of magic by which the poet somehow tells us the hard truths and makes us love the world all the more. I, for one, am grateful.
Melissa Crowe, author of Lo and Dear Terror, Dear Splendor
Shilo Niziolek's book, Little Deaths, is full of poems sharp with the black bars of grief, the silence of the unsayable that longs to be shaped into some solid, shimmering thing. Here, all the little and big deaths are tallied. Through the fractures and occlusions, a lyric and searching voice brings us closer to the source in poems that are raw with loss, yes, but also raw with hope and wonder. The heartbreaking diptych, "When my dog is dying," first told through an erasure, then straight on so as to obscure nothing, summons the full, obliterating force of sorrow that is as devastating as it is life-affirming. For, as deeply as this gorgeous book mourns, it also sings. This collection is a profound declaration of aliveness, awake to every radiant blooming, to every staggering moment that we are breathing. We are here, "little / bursts of green drift over us," we are letting go, "we try not to weep / when the golden hour comes," we are holding steady, "and there's dew coating the tall green grass. / Soon the yellow iris will be in bloom, waving," we are looking up at the stars, we are witnessing miraculous th