After the weather warms,
we call the water
pouring from the eaves
snowmelt.
I wonder if
there’s a new name for me now,
a word for what I am again
and what I was before.
Brigidh Duffey lives in Jersey City, where she is outnumbered by cats with bad personalities. She writes poetry about identity, ghosts, gender, and that lingering ennui that Catholic school graduates are forever stuck with. When she’s not writing poetry (which is most of the time), she’s an information scientist, nonprofit employee, and fantasy novel enthusiast.