by Constance Hansen
At the edge of the mistaken lake. Meet me at the edge of the woods, where water only laps rocks in the wind, which, too, is moon-ruled. Meet me under the towering firs, where girls hung used tampons by the tails, like mice on a haunted Christmas tree. The sisters were weird. They’d been saving their fetid darlings in film canisters and ornamented a wintering rhododendron with contagious magic because they favored the boy who slept inside the window it scratched. How do I know this is a confessional poem? Because I was there. Meet me at the edge of memory & fantasy, of childhood & adulthood, of attraction & repulsion. Meet me in the middle of the lake that GPS led the car deep into. Meet me in a faith such as that, however terminal, however misplaced. Like the moon, we float on water; we’re always new again. ____
Constance Hansen is an editorial assistant at Poetry Northwest. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming at Harvard Review Online and EcoTheo Review. She was a finalist for the 2021 Fugue Poetry Contest. Constance holds degrees from Middlebury College (BA Religion), The University of Washington (MFA Poetry), and Seattle University (Masters in Teaching). She lives in Seattle with her partner and young daughters.