Poem for Sasha Steensen
Joshua Marie Wilkinson

Cotton Mather standing under



the owls fall through


paroxysm & a barnful

of your work waiting askance


for your flashlight,

Gordon’s (my favorite) face

& what


will your daughter haunt of

these archives?


night finally, one of just

poems & cigarettes & porch drinking

& there’s no more Vegas or



just Oriana’s hilarious yawns & we’re

filed down, fled back.