by Maggie Rue Hess

for Taylor


Do you say anything but [names you couldn’t choose]?

Do you hold your [grief] like a [train whistle]
through which the [laughter] escapes
you, a [candle flicker] of the blood heat
in your [wisher’s] heart?

Do you dream in the language of [mothers]?

Do you call this [candle flicker]
a [wish] for the memory blanketing
your [laughter] like the ineludible [grief]
echoing each [train whistle]?

Do you think about the [ ]?

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Maggie Rue Hess (she/her) is a graduate student living in Knoxville, Tennessee, with her partner and their two crusty white dogs. Her work has appeared in Rattle, Minnesota Review, Connecticut River Review, and other publications; her debut chapbook, The Bones That Map Us, was published by Belle Point Press in February 2024. She likes to share baked goods with friends and can be found on Instagram as @maggierue_.