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Hannah Rego

Aubade, Belated

The small girl of you you admitted to once you admitted to your being

loud when you talked of cats in love & cats out of love

I couldn’t love a man

No one ever does because man is a word we use when we mean to leave

alone these smallest me’s of girl or rain in your eyes

there is only the desert shift to sky nothing between but petroglyphs

nothing between two people ever but sound the tongue can dull I know a way

to kiss without getting papercut all you do is fold a corner of the page

to mark it ancient In the books you left the dog ears belong to uncaged

hounds They return in summer dark to ask me to the woods

Out there a kiss means anything.

From the essay in which two snakes enmesh

until they destroy each other I pull a card that reads a night of seduction

Who were you talking to,

little darling,

smallest glass of water for an ant?

That’s you in this story a dew

Forgive me I want

to be the scientist again I cannot be

the leaf underside Forgive me but from you

I cannot turn away


Hannah Rego is a writer from Louisville, Kentucky. In 2016 they were awarded the Flo Gault poetry prize from Sarabande Books. They have attended residencies at Spalding University's Low-Res MFA and SAFTA through Sundress Publications. Their poetry appears in BOAAT, BOMB Magazine, and The Louisville Review. They live in Brooklyn and on twitter @hannahkalena.

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