I tongue at the feeling like a tooth
or the hole it leaves behind.
The reedy-soft wind tunnel
of my throat wants
to say something mean
to my mother.
In my fist there’s a dream
only I can swallow.
or the hole it leaves behind.
The reedy-soft wind tunnel
of my throat wants
to say something mean
to my mother.
In my fist there’s a dream
only I can swallow.
Quickest way to slow down time.
Desire ruffles its feathers, bubbles up.
Seconds turn into calibration, carefulness.
The space heaves you in, beckoning, at once,
to the lips of a once-beloved, a cherished,
a seafoam. Moments when I act as I’m
expected, move my body their
strings, and dance uncoordinated, tamed.
I only know of desire that which they taught me.
Hallie Fogarty is a poet, teacher, and artist from Kentucky. She received her MFA in poetry from Miami University, where she was awarded the 2024 Jordan-Goodman Graduate Award for Poetry. Their work has been published or is forthcoming in Poetry South, The Lindenwood Review, Hoxie Gorge Review, and elsewhere. Besides writing, she loves cardigans, dogs, and everything peach-flavored. She can be found on Twitter @halfogarty and online here: https://sites.google.com/view/halliefogartywrites/home
