15Hannah Pelletier studied English at the University of New Hampshire where she received the Richard M. Ford writing award two years in a row. Her work has been published in The Paragon Journal, Split Rock Review, Remembered Arts Journal, Thin Air Mag and more. Hannah is a 24 year old expat currently living in Paris.
Premonitions
I don’t think our end will
be particularly loud.
Even a cough is enough
to make the roof of this home
without hesitation,
collapse. So.
I fix you up,
as bad as I can.
But you don’t stay broken,
the only way I can
love you. Like a bird in the dirt,
with his belly up.
At the end, all the doors
are opened again.
And the both of us,
stepping backwards and
alone
through each one,
are not scared when they
close behind separate rooms—
First Love
You appear in the dream
like a knife—
descending slowly &
somehow holding
quietness at
your shoulders
(on the outside,
lightness is already
a blanket) but
I come to you
quietness & all
nine years later a
face—
nine years of
your silent hands,
of satellites, water
on rooftops,
rain dripping all over
the white floors
of it
& then:
morning
The Reappearance
Woke me up
in the middle of
the dream
about looking
for
water in a dark garden.
You, whose name
cannot sit still
in a sentence,
already feels written
on the back of my hand.
Like needing to
to violently
slam the door
shut,
but stay
behind
in the room with you.
Vows
I didn’t speak a single word:
simply freed
a ribbon
tied from me
to the others,
sweetly, but forever—
I took back every gift I
had ever given
without anyone noticing.
And you, looking so
honorable
standing beside
all of the remains
I have dragged
inside our home,
take your turn.