Aisyah Shah Idil


When you are gone I miss you terribly. When you are here I want to hide from you. When you touch me, layers of snow fall off beaten roofs And what is left is skeleton. What is left is buried.

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David Dick Reviews Emily Crocker, Allison Gallagher and Aisyah Shah Idil

I am always struck by the immense variability of human experience; the little and big differences that amount to the conditions of our individual and collective identities. The task of poetry is to write this nebulous, subjective humanity, while also probing the inefficiencies of the language we have to create and understand something so frustratingly out of grasp.

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