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Nighttime is to nectar as fable is to fox

by Amanda Hartzell

This is how it will happen:

 

deer not knowing which way

    the river runs,

moon out like a lamp

    at the end of the hall.

 

Finches trap their gold panic

    inside a winter porch

and then you arrive, stealthy

    as the fox who winds

 

out of dead legends. Sweet-spoken

    thief, curled up like smoke

in my home and belonging

    to no one.

 

Prying down your throat

    for my name I find only 

a belly full of honey

    as well as the bees.

Amanda Hartzell holds an MFA from Emerson College in Boston. Her work appears in New Letters, Petrichor Journal, The Knicknackery, Carve Magazine, and Cathexis Northwest Press among others. From eastern PA, she now lives in Seattle with her husband, son, and their dog. You can find her creating @heatherandsmoke.

"Grind" by Haley Winans

"Nom de guerre" by Jeremiah Moriarty