Laundry at Dawn
The peach pink clouds lying across the day’s new blue
are the clothes we washed together last night—
one load, button downs and my green dress.
They smell like that lemony detergent
Abigail Lee
Abigail is a poetry student at the University of Virginia, where she distracts herself from writing by baking copiously, reading voraciously, and listening to Christmas music every chance she gets.
My Sister Walking on Sand
St. John of Damascus
The gold frame, swung crooked again
draws my eye—and rehearsing: stepladder
and shift, retreat, observe, stepladder, shift
again, more to the right—deciding all
of that was still
4 o’clock
I.
The light is with us
for a little while longer.
Ice is puddled under
the groaning snow and the cracking
of trees. Our shadows
on the ground are blue,
and strewn with