I WON’T SPEAK OF MY LEAVING TO ANYONE
This fall, no frost on the fields—how long is the line
between departure and arrival? In the south, the sky
flourishes as if there is another dimension of the heart,
one tended to without being pared back or pruned, branches
tracing a rib-vault ceiling. Even north and south don’t mean
what they once did, when you could tape a map to the wall
and count each latitude. Instead, a constant tilt either toward
or away from springtime, snow’s sudden vanish into the earth.
Hannah Kroonblawd is a PhD student at Illinois State University. She is often over-watering her peace lily and watching Chinese rom-coms. A graduate of the MFA program at Oregon State University, her recent work can be found in the Blue Earth Review, Radar Poetry, and Ruminate, among others.