Lindsay Illich

Under you, an opportunity.Maybe wings. Something sparrow-like and saw-toothed. It’s the terrible
trick you play with your handsdeseeding an avocado—slamming in, then a turn.
In shades, the touching.Kindness a kind of beamyou light up the dark insides
of my body with. Lightas a gesture. Countenanceas lift and blade.
I don’t need to be under youto feel it.

Explain to Me
Whether like lightwe are waves or particles.
Either way, brokenbut still shiningthrough windows,from a space of heavenly bodies.
At night, flashedeffulgent,a zag of lightning.
Or then again maybe likelightning bugsfluorescing in entropy,tripped by some handthat won't turn us off.

Trimming Your New Beard
With grandmother'sgold-handledshears, having notattended your bodysince you were justa little kid,and the sound of the scissorsso regularand ordinarylike I think love should beeveryday. Brother,there are nowords for this.

Lindsay Illich holds a Ph.D. in English from Texas A&M University and teaches writing at Curry College in Milton, MA. Her work has appeared in Clare Literary Journal, Gulf Coast, Rio Grande Review, The Coachella Review, and Texas Poetry Journal. Her email address is