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Poetry Winter 2023    fiction    all issues


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
& other poems

Savannah Grant
Ever Since (v.2)
& other poems

grace (logan)
& other poems

Samantha Imperi
A Poem for the Ghosted
& other poems

Corinne Walsh
& 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.


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


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.

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