The Blog

Visiting Hours

Daniel Khalastchi

for H. N.

To be inside the lush

of life I climb alive a tree

outside the guarded rise

of hospital where you receive

your treatment. Attached against

my back I have a crate of caf-

Olivia Cronk

Nodding off in front of a comicbook robin stretched across several panels, Darius upgazes me in my fantasy lake dress.

I am completely desired and completely alien

I have dragged my child along my knee while tracing letters on my knee

I have felt final skin in the tall grass of pretend

yellow spilled across

Molly Minturn

So I’ve done it now

I am the girl alone in the woods.

The horse ran away

and I didn’t cry.

I can play Beethoven loud as I want,

mournful Beethoven to deaf trees.

I like the way

Samuel Amadon

Out in the bitter blue over the vacant street

The night before into morning as it filled

With news of what we’d known as we slept

Now written out. A fact we met, we meet still.

I went with Lizzie through the day, in a state,

Passing supermarket strangers, one two three,

Catherine Pond

Snow flanks the street, shoveled in piles higher than my head. It was the winter

of lost gloves and ear infections, of iced-over porch parties, of long-johns.

I lived with four girls. In the photo, my nails are Pepto pink, and the girls gather

around me, faces blurry in the frame. I remember the smell of their perfume—