Margaret Shultz lives in Iowa City, Iowa. Her poetry is forthcoming in Petrichor Machine, Softblow, and the Mad Hatter’s Review, and she recently received an honorable mention in the Paul Engle Student Essay Contest.
We are young and we sing
in the bath. In the oven
muffins rise, the grease
of past years sends forth
bands of heat, and yeast fall
into bowls of water.
We catch ponds, scoop
hot winds from a slow winter and sloop
postwar against the bow of
In a verdant, licked river that
rams drink from and the clues all lead to
falsely, the quiet faith of a quiet
people sinks. On arrhythmias
or the blazonry of crumbs we have
written our names, we have written our names
backwards in the melting snow.