Hannah Darling Fenn




There was an orb signaled

And a mother soaking her hair in coffee

With shoes kicked off

And no showmanship of the ether.


And I found the center of all my lives

On a hot summer sidewalk at dusk.

With the crickets and thick melting



All of that.


And a thousand denim babies

Asking me when we’re going to the store.

When will we buy ourselves.

When will we rest on her earth.

When will we sip cold soda like children

And build the long ladders

Like a helix

That have us at the bottom

And us at the top.

And Such


This is a night desert walk

And her second rebirth

Has gone a bit tipsy turvy.


Which feels like peace washed over.

Which feels like a highway chant coming home.

Which is not of-the-flesh.


But made in her ethereal house

Where wayfaring crows hold up each picket of fence


And wide circles of the by and by

Split like some broken ring of earth

And ache for her to sing them whole.


Her son has this face

Which harbors some engulfed vibration

Of every forest she walked

Before him.


And another wild-less howl:

Let your babies,



Hannah Darling Fenn is a poet, freelance journalist, and mother. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and their three young sons. Hannah studied creative writing at Southern Oregon University and her work has appeared in Wend Poetry.