about the author

Ginna Luck’s work can be read or is forthcoming in Juked, Gravel, Pif Magazine, Radar Poetry, Menacing Hedge, Gone Lawn, Hermeneutic Chaos Journal, and others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has an MFA from Goddard College. She currently lives in Seattle with her husband and three boys.


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Two Poems 

Ginna Luck



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I Gave You No Answer

I drew my sickness in a circle on your chest and lit the circle on fire.

I draped my body over you like a dense green moss.

The fire was more than our anatomy.

My sickness was more than the fire.

The fire breathed like a room full of people clutching and kissing wide mouthed.

The fire spit blue pulse of sparks into our hot empty mouths.

Our mouths became a flaming hoop brighter than every volcano.

A tight circle of green became tragically powerful.

I saw how my sickness made you

uncomfortable.




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There Is No Space Here For Waiting

In a narrow room with one tired window
is my heart on my arm
like a complicated feeling.

In a narrow room with one tired window
is a bed made from a spot on my face
that looks like old age
and I have to lie down on it anyway.

In a narrow room with one tired window
are hours like a broken box of parts
I can’t do anything with.

In a narrow room with one tired window
is the transparent air and my invisible
words lit up all over the walls.

I am thinking of where life happens
and a single frozen shoe
like a dead bird
drags from my mouth.

I am thinking of my family
and tall weeds
grow out of a love note.

I am thinking of one room full of windows
and a hole in my tooth becomes
one very radiant light.

And outside the window falls the rain.

And outside the window is an unfinished sky
between my children’s open arms

I have no idea of the distances.

I slide the window open and open.
The rain is warm. Why not just accept it?





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