This is a book of ghost stories, and for the most part, ghosts are
jealous monsters, intent upon our destruction. They never appear overtly
here, yet we gradually become aware of the spirits in haunted houses in
the way they tread over creaky floors, slam doors, and issue sudden
gusts of wind. These poems are Koan-like--the fewer the words, the more
charged they are. The engine driving the sense of haunting and loss is
money, which Davis describes as "federal bone" boiling around us. Bison
in Nebraska are reduced to bones, "seven/standing men/tall" fodder for
the fertilizer used by farmers in the 1800s. There is, too, an equality
to the hauntings--every instance has its moment, and persists, despite
being in the past, present, or future. Index of Haunted Houses is
spooky and sad--a stunning debut, one that will surprise, convince, and
most of all, delight.