Wings of the Dove

bitter cookie

I have the crumbs

lover in another room

stave off the cold

I give him another’s bed

pearl necklace

white lilies

and the sick man in my yard

he and I drink 

musty wine through pink glasses in the dark

golden sleeves

like bells at midnight

a grave floats on water

a coffin, like an eyelid

bitter cookie, who am I mommy to 

and when am I child

the triangle has lesions

there are no perfect corners 

in this shape

withered 

muddled and mottled

melting boundaries

angel on my doorstep

Ophelia drowning 

in a wish of her own making

reeds pull her down

the weight of the water

in the pearls of her making

spit lies and truth

there is no petticoat to hide this

the little grit

and all the reasons

of the yearning.

Julia Laxer is an Associate Editor at Hobart. Her poems have appeared in Witch Craft Magazine, Dirt Child, The Thought Erotic, Pom Pom Press, Bodega Magazine and So to Speak. Her prose is widely anthologized; most recently, in 2024, she published a memoir, “JULIA ST.” in The Holy Hour, published by Working Girls Press. Julia received the Orlando Prize in 2014 for a lyrical essay about mental health. She dreams about living beside the sea and works best on a deadline. Follow her Substack, Window Shopping Life, at julialaxer.substack.com and keep up with her at @julialaxer.bsky.social.