In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

My mother used to warn me that strange menlurked in the woods, waiting for children to snatch,and that a ponytail was made for clutching.But on a street of beautiful homes, it's hard to worrywhen lamps glow still and orange in the windowsand you believe in the steeple's point above the treeseven if you don't believe in the altar beneath it.Standing in my running shorts and sneakers,I could think of worse things to want than this.Call it the longing of someone who wants what feelsout of reach, call it the musing of someone who catalogsrooms in which each thing has a place and rests there,who watches untrimmed hedges short-circuit with fireflies.Forgive me for mentioning the fireflies, for any talk of light. [End Page 32]

Paige Sullivan

Paige Sullivan completed her B.A. at Agnes Scott College and her M.F.A. at Georgia State University. While at Georgia State, she served as an assistant editor at Five Points, then as the poetry editor of New South. She has participated in the 2015 Kentucky Women Writers Conference Workshop, the 2017 Tin House Winter Workshop for poets, and most recently the Poetry Foundation and Crescendo Literary’s 2017 Poetry Incubator. In addition to essays and reviews, her poetry has appeared in Arts & Letters, Ninth Letter, American Literary Review, and other journals. She lives and works in Atlanta.

...

pdf

Back To Top

This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website. Without cookies your experience may not be seamless.