i used to romanticize being
a starving artist until i went to bed
for dinner

when a leaf opens: birth
when a leaf falls: a shame

the crunch beneath your foot is not a leaf
but a lost dollar
you will put in your pocket and put towards your liquor fund
it will again go to gas

in new york we call cold weather brick
because we are used to throwing stones

and feeling the ice pack on our foreheads
but i do my best
not to step in snow;

i want these leaves
to fossilize: a shame.


last night i dreamt i had a heartbeat
in my stomach. hurricanes are more powerful
when named after girls. it was scorch and pure, pounding
in the afterthought that maybe lateness
isn’t all it was. it had a voice and a pulse thriving
and her name was not jessica but it could have been
because when I woke up my sheets
were stained with an ovary, emptying.

ALYSSA HANNA graduated from Purchase College in May 2016 with a degree in Creative Writing and a minor in History. Her poems have appeared or are upcoming in Reed Magazine, The Naugatuck River Review, Crack the Spine, Rust + Moth, BARNHOUSE, Pidgeonholes, and others. She was also nominated for a 2017 Pushcart Prize and was a finalist in the 2017 James Wright Poetry Competition. Alyssa is an aquarium technician in Westchester and lives with her fish and special needs lizards. Follow her @alyssawaking on Twitter and Instagram.