Lindsey Warren

Other Evenings

I stole a coin to throw

into the fountain so I

could wish for the moon

to return to me,

though I knew

it would be different, though

I knew it wouldn’t follow

me into the bedroom

after I had been crying. So

I disappear again into

another front yard where the trees

look like seaweed, leaves repeat

Freyjas in the branches, you can see

the bowls of milk

the neighbor put out. I cannot

wait for the beginning of the dream,

the night is whole and leaking,

everyone I have ever loved

waits patiently for me on the other side of

knowing which lobe of my brain

pearls over a memory of forest.

Streetlights fall charcoal, Cassiopeia

is on fire with

Cassiopeia, I thought so, too. Houses cut

into little bits of sky.

Someone is in pain

and I know it. I know it.

Lindsey Warren is a recent graduate of Cornell University’s MFA program. She is currently at Cornell not as a student, but as a freshman writing instructor and a creative writing teacher. She has been published in The Fox Chase Review, Broadkill Review, Icarus Down, Secret Lovers Press, Rubbertop Review, Marathon Review and Hobart. She has had an excerpt of a long poem “Incantation” on display as an exhibit at the Biggs Museum in Dover, Delaware. She is the recipient of a Delaware Division of the Arts Fellowship and has been a finalist for the Delaware Literary Connection Prize and the Joy Harjo Prize.

Recent Posts

See All

Grant Souders

COMEAROUND The bear now. Instead of what is what. One might come to expect. To expect is, being central to our view, bobbling the ball and not in fang, the bear Sinks a paw into the buoyant and isolat