No first names: it’s military prison. Takes weeks
to figure out when the shirt’s un-
tucked, there’s a child inside. Today
we’re writing odes, celebrating
the ordinary. I’ve taken away gang
-colored pencils, replaced
them with Ticonderoga. Adore
is a word I have to define, take
out of its box, break
open like a muffin.
It’s time to praise something, pretend
there’s a whole house waiting
to claim her,
a whole house sitting
on a cul-de-sac. Her name
on its tongue like song.
✶✶✶✶
Anne Dyer Stuart’s poetry was nominated for Best New Poets 2016 and her nonfiction won New South journal’s 2012 prose prize. Past publications of both poetry and prose include AGNI, Raleigh Review, Third Coast, Sugar House Review, The Texas Review, Louisiana Literature, Fiction Southeast, New World Writing, The Louisville Review, Exit 7, Poet Lore, Lake Effect, The Midwest Quarterly, and Pembroke Magazine. She teaches at Bloomsburg University in Pennsylvania.
Andrew Reilly has published a number of photos in ACM.
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