Shaylyn Schwieg

EMMA RHODES, Razor Burn.

TORONTO: Anstruther Press, 2023. $10.00.

The raw honesty of Razor Burn takes you on a journey of reflection. Rhodes’ powerful debut chapbook speaks of what queer means to the author, what relationships mean, and the power they have over us—whether good or bad. Razor Burn speaks of making up your own meaning of identity and rewriting it over and over again.
Repetition is a powerful tool in this collection. It is in the very first poem—building on the idea of what “My Queer” is; it’s a multi-faceted depiction unique to the speaker’s experience. This depiction is more than just the discovery, more than the coming-out landmark. It is full and rich and that much more important to read. The poem’s refrain ties to this concept of “my queer”:

My queer is Tan, / watching lesbian porn with no sound, is telling her / I haven’t had my first kiss yet. / Is our practice kiss… my / queer is Dave. Pushing, yelling, crying at mom, drinking / vodka in plastic cups… My queer / is my pink flower girl dress… is / running around rural Alberta with Starbucks / yelling / “vroom vroom mother fucker” at every passing / dick.

Every repetition of “my queer” is an adjustment, a complete rewrite, a subtle change, or a simple add-on.
Rhodes also plays with multiple dialogues and realities—whether between different characters or what we say versus what we’re unwilling to admit is the reality of the situation. Often this is done with formatting, creating space between stanzas, and aligning certain beats together. In the title poem, “Razor Burn,” there is a contrast between what others want, what is expected of the speaker, and what they convince themselves of. Like the raw pain and fear that the experience brings as they go to “Reach for the razor. / Can’t tell shower water from tears. / This isn’t a big deal / virginity is a construct / empowered women have sex / It’ll grow back anyway. / But my shaking hands / drop the razor.” In “Resilience? II” it divides the different truths of how the speaker and Amy put up with toxic relationships: “you deserve more / than a man / with his own name / tattooed on his back” contrasts with “I still sleep / with men who / Bitch / for not sending pics.”  Even as the speaker gives advice, they don’t follow it and the poem ends with, “I know Amy knows,” which shows how knowing isn’t the same as doing something about it.
The chapbook ends with a poem that shares the speaker’s concept of home, which unapologetically says, “This is where I come from. / Travel 4000km. / Or don’t. / You will find me. / Right there. Look — / here. Still.” It illustrates that the location relies on the memories there—“we will go for coffee… I walk / down Queen street / down Brentwood ave and stop / at the swing set to chat with you.” Ultimately, it seems to end on the note that the speaker is content with where they are and where they came from. Whether it is “[Their] queer,” their relationships, their sense of self, or where they come from, they are there to stay––as they are.
This is a great read for anyone who has loved and lost, faced others’ expectations with anxiety, or anyone who is still figuring out what it is to be themselves and how they might have to fight for that process. Come read, feel seen. Take your time. Rhodes’s poems will be amazing company.

SHaylyn Schwieg

is a writer and reviewer from Brampton, Ontario. Currently, she works as the Events and Communications Intern at The Ampersand Review of Writing & Publishing, and studies at Sheridan College—attending its Creative Writing & Publishing Program. She enjoys exploring different genres and basking in the beauty of others’ writing. She is a proud member of the queer community, passionate about mental health awareness, and a strong advocate for environmentalism; all of which tend to be featured in her writing.