Next Time You Come Home: A Daughter’s Journey Through Letters
Lisa Dordal’s third book, NEXT TIME YOU COME HOME, is available for pre-order from Black Lawrence Press. In the book, Lisa distills one hundred eighty letters she received from her mother over a twelve-year period (1989-2001) into short, meditative entries that reflect upon motherhood, marriage, grief, the beauty of the natural world, same-sex relationships, and the passage of time. The final entries are something between letters and poems and portray a mother who, despite her alcoholism, maintains an engaged and compassionate presence in the world, one nourished by intellectual curiosity, life-long relationships with family and friends, and active involvement in the larger world.
Writer Margaret Renkl says “The collection’s true genius lies in the communion of mother and daughter across time. In distilling her late mother’s letters to their loving essence, Lisa Dordal focuses not on the “nighttime mother” who drank until her speech was slurred but on the vibrant, nurturing “daytime mother” who taught her how to love the world. This is a radical compassion that heals, offering understanding without excuses or justifications, love without benchmarks or conditions.”
Poet Didi Jackson says this about the book: “How fortunate to be able to bear witness to the daily joys and sorrows that could otherwise be long forgotten. These transformative poems leave me even more in awe of each of our precious, fleeting, singular lives.”
Lisa Dordal is a Writer-in-Residence at Vanderbilt University and is the author of two previous books: Mosaic of the Dark, which was a finalist for the 2019 Audre Lorde Award for Lesbian Poetry and Water Lessons, which was listed by Lambda Literary as one of their most anticipated books for 2022. Her poetry has appeared in The Sun, Narrative, Image, Best New Poets, New Ohio Review, and CALYX.
September 1983
This should arrive in time; I hope the Post Office doesn’t disappoint.
I tried to make the cookies as good as the ones we ate
in Atlantic City, but they aren’t.
We had a lovely weekend at the Lake over Labor Day—
grilling steaks, bobbing around on inner tubes.
Leah’s sister was in town. Have you ever met her? She’s pretty
but in a colder, more sophisticated way. I like Leah’s prettiness better.
Just now, WFMT played “Blue Skies” by Irving Berlin—
his songs were what I grew up with. Happy songs
in Depression America. Yes, I attended Alfred’s funeral.
He was 25. There was a bouquet from his fiancée.
I appreciate the letter you sent. You were 10 when I started drinking,
maybe 9. I’ve put you through a lot of pain.
The dried blossoms are from the mock orange tree in our yard.
I carry your letter in my purse.
May 1996
The warblers are coming through—
they’re beautiful. I haven’t seen any kinglets,
however, and I love them. An Oriole
alighted on the back porch a week ago,
and Dad has seen Redstarts.
The weather is awful: cold and rainy.
Everything is late. People are depressed.
There has been no spring.