Kathleen
Johnson’s second book of poetry alternates between images and verse, between
free verse and prose, between Tsalagi (Cherokee) and Anglo traditions. She
writes: “Poetry is the language spoken here/ in Gaelic, in English, in Tsalagi”
(“Waiting for Winter Dark”). As more and more Americans are born with mixed heritages,
this book is a field guide to survival. Johnson finds ways to inspire. She
remembers Tsalagi people who were persecuted and exiled: “…the flame carried /
on the trail to Oklahoma / still burns” (“Waiting for Winter Dark”). 
The strong red-on-black cover design sets up a
crackling dynamism. Portraits of grandparents accompanying text create short narratives
that evoke heritage in personal terms. The slippage of memory makes
storytelling incomplete, so lyrics prevail in this book. The poem “Ghost” teeters
between the worlds of the living and the departed. This is also a moment
between present and past. Winter imagery is the backdrop, with snowfall like “a
gauzy shroud.” The narrator looks at “… the days before, / the days after”; she
wonders, “Who can wake this world?” It is a moment set in a void, yet sound
continues. Sotto voce growls of a
bear are part of this surreal place, and “She hears only her own / wretched,
beautiful, lusty wail.” Even when
identity is removed from the narrator, she still has her individual sound, like
the poet herself. GHOST
She
has been drained of color
until
invisible. Nobodylooks at her now.
She sees her life
behind her: a cold landscape
shot through with red.
There were the days before,
the days after.
Snow dusts the ground,
covers it like a gauzy shroud.
Who can wake this world?
A bear growls unheard
in the distance.
Ravens wheel in forbidding skies,
dark as her dreams.
She waits for a saving voice.
She hears only her own
wretched, beautiful, lusty wail.
