And there you were—the sun, salt-haze,
survival vaporized in my blood. Fever humid, June
weekend in June, I was looking for you
not knowing I was looking. What should
I call you? An anniversary, a terror, my real life,
a window? I offered myself up to the pale field
of possibly, gravity—the answer
to your luminous grin, you, the god, the gamble.
I forgot my stupid life. My will spun like a wheel,
one speed, the desire that moves the sun
and other stars. I married you in my mind.
I took off my dress, a constellation torn apart
by pretending. I thought this was the vow. I took
off everything. Now, am I supposed to live like that?
I NEEDED SOME LIGHT
by Jill Mceldowney
JILL MCELDOWNEY is the author of the full-length collections ALYDAR (YesYes
Books 2026) and Otherlight (YesYes Books 2023), winner of a North American Book
Award. She is a founder and editor of Madhouse Press. She is a recipient of a grant from
the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation of New Mexico. Her previously published work can be
found in publications such as The Academy of American Poets, Prairie Schooner, Tupelo
Quarterly, Frontier, Muzzle, and other notable publications.