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Loisa Fenichell

My throat festers

with ill-planned wishes.

This afternoon, there

is so much gone: the harbor;

the nightship. My eyes

water with leftover heat.

How strange this heat is,

how strong, how my hair

hangs loose, untethered.

It is easier during the day

to pretend that I miss nobody,

to miss as seasons dissipate,

to clean the kitchen with little

regret. I recognize now

that within language there

awaits the threat of not

hearing the whistle as it blows,

so far away, like a string of bees.

To live through the days

as though the bee-stings

were still so far gone: when I

sat like a rediscovered doll

atop the lap of my grandmother,

to spot the birds. In those

days, she & my mother

still spoke, made eye contact with

one another. It’s nobody’s fault:

only that, yes, there are times

when one’s dog breaks, & I

forget to listen to new music,

& I forget to sway like old-timers.

Loisa Fenichell holds a BA from SUNY Purchase College, where she studied Literature and Creative Writing. Her work has been featured or is forthcoming in various publications, such as, The Winter Tangerine Review, Porridge Magazine, The Nervous Breakdown, and No Contact Mag. Her debut collection, 'all these urban fields,' was published by nothing to say press. She is an MFA candidate in Poetry at Saint Mary's College of California.

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