The Zenith Room of the Tivoli was unexpectedly crowded on Feb. 26—a rare sight for a poetry reading, but a testament to the pull of CU Denver alumnus Steven Espada Dawson. The evening served as both a homecoming and a profound meditation on the mechanics of grief, beginning with a powerful opening set by representatives of CALMA (Colorado Alliance of Latino Mentors and Authors). 

Opening readers Carmelita Jaramillo and Ricardo J. Bogaert-Alvarez, both affiliated with CALMA’s mission to support and promote Latino voices in Colorado, set a defiant, linguistic tone for the evening. Both readers made a point to recite their works in English and Spanish, bridging the language gap for the diverse Auraria audience. Bogaert-Alvarez performed a particularly stirring piece regarding the American identity, written in late January 2025 following the inauguration of President Trump. The bilingual delivery and timely political weight resonated deeply, earning a room full of sustained applause before the headliner even took the podium. 

When Dawson stepped up, the atmosphere shifted from political to visceral. A lover of “bleeding titles”—titles that serve as the poem’s first line, blurring the boundary between the header and the heart of the text—he shared several pieces from his collection Late to the Search Party, including “When the Body Says No but You Can’t Stop Swallowing” and “Salvation Sonnet.” Throughout the night, Dawson’s commentary remained grounded in a refreshing honesty about mental health. While many poets romanticize writing as a panacea, Dawson advocated for professional therapy alongside the creative process. He noted that while his pages are a “playground to figure things out,” they should supplement, not replace, traditional mental health resources. 

The emotional core of his work is inextricably linked to the Auraria area. Dawson’s high school graduation took place just steps from the campus where he would later earn his bachelor’s degree; however, that milestone was marred by tragedy. It was the very day of his graduation that his brother went missing—an event that directly inspired Late to the Search Party. 

This personal history allowed Dawson to challenge a common workshop trope: the idea that one should “write from the scar, not the wound.” For Dawson, the reality is far more raw. He described his current state as “writing from the scab,” a process of constant picking and revisiting that refuses to neatly heal. He likened the act of confronting these hard topics to looking directly into the sun—blinding and painful, yet impossible to ignore. 

This vulnerability extended to his storytelling. Dawson recounted a childhood memory of his friend, Martine, who was deported. By sharing Martine’s narrative, he aimed to humanize the statistics surrounding immigration, asserting that these individuals are “more than just a number.” The story received a long, loud applause from the crowd. 

For the aspiring writers in the audience, Dawson offered a pragmatic parting gift: “Don’t tell yourself no; let others tell you no.” His message was clear: the world will provide enough barriers; don’t build your own. As the event transitioned into a busy book-signing session, the high turnout proved the resonance of Dawson’s message. By refusing to “tell himself no,” he found an audience at his alma mater that was more than ready to say yes.