Prophecy
I am drowning
in the dim alone
at a bar with cocktail spears shaped like oars
One bobs about the ice melt, buoy—
bloated maraschino cherry
I take it, let my teeth
sink into sour sweet, swallow
imagine myself climbing into a tiny boat and rowing away
I carry the paddle in my pocket,
run my fingers over the rough edges every day
until it becomes a part of my hand
talisman turns to omen
—a wooden resolve
a drive to the dock
to get in a boat
atop the wake
I break daylight
Hannah Love is a woman with a laptop from Portland, Oregon. When she is not working, she is practicing creative writing and befriending cats. Her fiction and poetry appear in Across the Margin, Audience Askew Literary Journal, Buckman Journal, and elsewhere. You can follow more of her ramblings on X @hanniestew and Instagram: @isthathannahlove.