Poetry Winter 2023 fiction all issues
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Cover
Susan Wilkinson
Selena Spier
Red From The West
& other poems
Pamela Wax
Talk Therapy
& other poems
Ana Reisens
Honey Water
& other poems
Mark Yakich
Necessary Hope
& other poems
Bridget Kriner
A Few Lies & a Truth
& other poems
Keegan Shepherd
Silver Queen
& other poems
Alaina Goodrich
Sacred Conflagration
& other poems
George Longenecker
Those Who Hunger
& other poems
Hailey Young
Ball Room
& other poems
Sébastien Luc Butler
Aubade
& other poems
Savannah Grant
Ever Since (v.2)
& other poems
grace (logan)
Dynamic
& other poems
Samantha Imperi
A Poem for the Ghosted
& other poems
Corinne Walsh
Limerence
& other poems
Kayla Heinze
Stop checking the score
& other poems
Richard Baldo
Chasing Through to Dawn
& other poems
Alex Eve
A moment
& other poems
Robert Michael Oliver
Prison Hounds
& other poems
Hailey M. Young
Minutes And Ours
As hands meet at noon,
I dust off your morning coat,
place it around a cold heart.
The sun in winter
makes a subtle dance,
between mountains and flowers.
It leaves petals of light
down the aisle to my heart.
And like the waves,
you break,
leave the same way you came in,
the door left splintered from your touch.
As hands meet at midnight,
you enter with snow lining your lapel,
face grey under shade of darkness.
The moon, half risen,
shows its cheek
peeking through the poplar.
It knows the key to crickets and frogs,
horror and sleep.
Achilles and Patroclus
All I saw was the blurred crimson, his blood
falling onto the soil, creating a red sea.
And in that puddle, I began to see a piece
of my own reflection,
the rippling of my arms
around his still body.
And as he lost all semblance
of the boy I once knew, I could do nothing
but hold his head in my bloodied palms,
stretch like honey around his abdomen.
I beg his body to give me a sign
of life, of love. Move, please.
I call to a God I once believed was true,
lay his body at the altar of that higher being.
What is the point of invincibility
if I can feel my blood boil and churn?
A heat like lava that leaves
my heart burned and charred.
I can feel his heart slowing in my ear,
hear the beat lose shape,
lose its weight.
And I wonder if this is what the end
of a symphony feels like,
the moment when every instrument
ceases to play.
Ball Room
I dream of angels leaving the room and here’s
the last tuck, into my arm and into the space
between my legs I let you sit, criss cross man spread
a homecoming, witness me making history
outfit changing to tuxedo / dress / music to my ears
I declare war on holy ground,
that space where breast meets bone,
left unprotected from the sharp blade
adorned with gold and silver,
I mined for jewels and compliments,
I paint your face with blood.
Mammy/Sapphire/Jezebel
Nurturing the body,
I place my head
upon your shoulder,
I work for you, work on you,
laying hands and arms
around the body,
the grind of my teeth
forgives my very nature,
the fire burns,
the garden grows,
I am not servant
or serpent,
my body’s been working
hard
to please you
I take the red of my eyes
and place it in my cheeks
I smile,
knife in hand,
I cut the tension
with a yessir
and a cakewalk.
Effeminate Nature
Mother dear,
what is life without martyrdom?
Skin wrinkles between her brows
from when she frowned at me, rings
around the trunk to signify age.
Mother dear,
do you feel yourself being drawn into other bodies?
She brings me inside, where she washes me
and my clothes of dirt, the daughter and the dawn,
both rising steadily from their beds of grass.
Mother dear,
when’s the last time you cried?
In the thunder, I came into her room and snuck in
between her arms, and when she awoke, she turned to face me
and asked whether the rain would ever end.
Mother dear,
did you ever dream?
They laid out our path with wood chips,
and we walked, branches bending in the wind,
our feet eventually finding their own syncopated rhythm.
Hailey M. Young
(she/her) is a poet from Princeton, New Jersey. She graduated from Brown University with a degree in Literary Arts and Africana Studies. When she’s not writing, she is usually reading, watching sitcoms, or teaching. During the 2023-2024 cycle, she was also awarded a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship in Botswana.