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After This We Go Dark
Henry James wrote, "We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." In this spirit comes After This We Go Dark, the definitive collection of poems from world champion slam poet Theresa Davis that tackles love and loss, family and heartbreak, sexuality and politics, gender and expectation, and all places comfortable and uncomfortable in between.
- GenresPoetry
108 pages, Paperback
First published May 14, 2013
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
April 13, 2026
In the beginning I can say I didn’t catch full grasp of most of the poetry and didn’t really like it. But as I read further the poems became more relatable and reminded me of how much of a dope poet Theresa is. I enjoyed this book, but not better than Drowned: A Mermaids Manifesto, which is fine because it still did exactly what it needed to do!
August 22, 2021
I absolutely love this woman's words.
March 4, 2020
Theresa Davis is an amazing poet and this collection is beautiful, haunting, and brilliant.
June 9, 2020
Poetry that seeps into you with unforgiving doses of reality. Written from the heart, mind and soul of a woman we would all be better off with having as a sister. imo
April 23, 2013
A Grand Lady with a Resounding Voice
Theresa Davis writes like a force of nature. There seem to be few subjects about which she is uninformed and her ability to bring these at times sensitive topics to our attention wither surety of poetic demeanor is at once startling and impressive. Her physical home is Atlanta where she has been a teacher and an honored poet and artist for many years. She has been honored by the City of Atlanta by their proclaiming May 22 as THERESA DAVIS DAY.
But why does Davis' poetry command our attention? Perhaps it is because she bravely tackles topics and ideas such as the strange obstructions life and love throw in our paths, the many hurdles that politics and grief and gender questions slide by so many other less informed and less brave minds and writers. Her words can dig deeply into the flesh and yet knowing those words some form the pen of Theresa Davis they somehow escape scaring. She can be tender, she can be coarse, she can be vitriolic, but she always demands to be heard.
HANDS
it starts with a touch
one that excites and aggravates
smooth lines on parchment
searching for secrets
tucked between folds
my name in your mouth a breath held
a crown
I am a queen here
locked in your embrace
hold me to the light
watch me shine sparkle
moans like music we dance
slow at first
our momentum increases
your eyes glass
we slide shimmer
my mouth turns filthy
the words all guttural stain
I don't believe my own ears
you ask me what I want
Pandora's box opens
just enough to let simple sins flow
out in tangles of sheets and palms
we become elastic
stretching more than intentions
bend like willows roll like waves
crash and break holding like notes
we are an opera
we are a memory in the making
shaking leaves falling forever
it started with a touch
TEA PARTY
Those people in glass houses
drink their tea from short porcelain mugs,
Earl Grey with strings attached.
They prefer their tea like their views:
watered down, devoid of flavor.
They have forgotten the gravity of rocks.
Like stale biscuits and old mentalities,
You can't take slave owner out of master.
They like their campaigns
like their country clubs: all white.
I mean, all right, wings
sprout from prosthetic backbones bending truths,
spinning lies like webs of interests
they are not interested in.
Your truths have no place in their house,
the glass so thick nothing can be seen clearly.
Pinky finger arched,
good manners,
crooked ties.
Words disguised as fact,
not meant to be taken as factual,
meant to be taken with cream:
white washed by the new would-be minority.
Fear runs rampant in this house of glass,
this house of mixed messages.
They hold their cups with two hands,
careful not to spill a drop
There is a magnificent long poem (among many) called STATE OF BEING, but you must buy this treasure trove to fully bathe in the power of Theresa Davis.
Grady Harp
Theresa Davis writes like a force of nature. There seem to be few subjects about which she is uninformed and her ability to bring these at times sensitive topics to our attention wither surety of poetic demeanor is at once startling and impressive. Her physical home is Atlanta where she has been a teacher and an honored poet and artist for many years. She has been honored by the City of Atlanta by their proclaiming May 22 as THERESA DAVIS DAY.
But why does Davis' poetry command our attention? Perhaps it is because she bravely tackles topics and ideas such as the strange obstructions life and love throw in our paths, the many hurdles that politics and grief and gender questions slide by so many other less informed and less brave minds and writers. Her words can dig deeply into the flesh and yet knowing those words some form the pen of Theresa Davis they somehow escape scaring. She can be tender, she can be coarse, she can be vitriolic, but she always demands to be heard.
HANDS
it starts with a touch
one that excites and aggravates
smooth lines on parchment
searching for secrets
tucked between folds
my name in your mouth a breath held
a crown
I am a queen here
locked in your embrace
hold me to the light
watch me shine sparkle
moans like music we dance
slow at first
our momentum increases
your eyes glass
we slide shimmer
my mouth turns filthy
the words all guttural stain
I don't believe my own ears
you ask me what I want
Pandora's box opens
just enough to let simple sins flow
out in tangles of sheets and palms
we become elastic
stretching more than intentions
bend like willows roll like waves
crash and break holding like notes
we are an opera
we are a memory in the making
shaking leaves falling forever
it started with a touch
TEA PARTY
Those people in glass houses
drink their tea from short porcelain mugs,
Earl Grey with strings attached.
They prefer their tea like their views:
watered down, devoid of flavor.
They have forgotten the gravity of rocks.
Like stale biscuits and old mentalities,
You can't take slave owner out of master.
They like their campaigns
like their country clubs: all white.
I mean, all right, wings
sprout from prosthetic backbones bending truths,
spinning lies like webs of interests
they are not interested in.
Your truths have no place in their house,
the glass so thick nothing can be seen clearly.
Pinky finger arched,
good manners,
crooked ties.
Words disguised as fact,
not meant to be taken as factual,
meant to be taken with cream:
white washed by the new would-be minority.
Fear runs rampant in this house of glass,
this house of mixed messages.
They hold their cups with two hands,
careful not to spill a drop
There is a magnificent long poem (among many) called STATE OF BEING, but you must buy this treasure trove to fully bathe in the power of Theresa Davis.
Grady Harp
May 27, 2013
Theresa Davis is a powerful performance poet, so when I read these poems, I heard her voice. Some I've heard out loud, some I was encountering for the first time. There are ranges of emotion, politics, and musings. One of my favorites has her family going to the local post office, but events take a surprising turn. This book is full of surprises.
February 5, 2016
Davis's narrative and observational poems dissect love and loss, relationships, race, religion, motherhood, gender, history, and many everyday occurrences in a strong lesbian/feminist voice.
November 8, 2016
A delightful read from beginning to end. Her poems are the perfect length for smokers, but if you try to take the mermaid into the tub with you, she will try to swim
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews