by Hannah Stephenson

Let the shadows have you
sometimes and give yourself to them
without fear For the knee
which has never been skinned
I weep and not just for theatrical effect
Even with all of your shiny hair I wish
mud puddles upon you Occasional
mud puddles and green walks through
the mossy dusk that one can stroll through
alone only Maybe you will come upon
the bird that refuses to be yours A slip
of white paint you will never touch
Egret this bird is called Feathered regret
incarnate Call and call for its pallor
I hope it never comes

Hannah Stephenson is a poet, editor, and instructor living in Columbus, Ohio (where she also runs a literary event series called Paging Columbus). She is the author of In the Kettle, the Shriek, and her writing has appeared in The Atlantic, The Huffington Post, 32 Poems, The Journal, and Poetry Daily. You can visit her online at The Storialist

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