Hannah Cohen

Hannah Cohen lives in Virginia and is a MFA candidate in poetry at Queens University of Charlotte. She’s Poetry Editor of Firefly Magazine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in december, The Tishman Review, Sea Foam Mag, Mom Egg Review, The Shallow Ends, and elsewhere. She tweets at @hcohenpoet.

p

p

driving songs

p

i

your skin is a washed-out

preschool playground. even here the rain

falls after a little while.

p

ii

the car radio scratches out an insurance commercial

down a 4:45pm road. you watch the sky

and its dotted chorus of vultures.

p

iii

yesterday it was a gas station. the plastic top

fell on the floor and you didn’t want

someone to see you care enough to put it in the trash bin.

p

iv

you ask yourself how easy it is to be made

out of pearls. always looking for wildflowers

blooming in your mouth.

p

v

there was a time you didn’t live

with your hands cupping a stone you tried to crack

open again.

p

vi

your favorite episode of csi miami is where the gators

eat the bad guy so no one deals with the consequences.

you’re buzzed and no one listens anyway.

p

vii

the road is gone. there’s a green glass

bottle with a ship inside your stomach and it’s never

going to stop breaking.

p

p

Pennsylvania

p

Like a bloom past midnight,

the girl I am descends

heart-first under the last

June sky. The cloud lake

curves along my hip bone,

and the wood moon brushes

across my lip. Convexing,

concaving until I’m less

naked, become water.

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