november broke into my room, tore me apart, and lazily put me back.

Hannah Dettmann

Maisons à l'Estaque, 1908, by Georges Braque.


november broke into my room, tore me apart, and lazily put me back.

november tastes of burnt
coffee, a piercing cadet-blue loneliness.
swelling in the chest from a salt-soaked
heart, to live with guilt that doesn't belong
to me, no creak to pour it out. child rage
in a woman's body. unable to crawl
from my skin to shave down
my bones or soak my brain. a hole
burned through my body from blistering
memory of october’s golden leaves
and giggling breeze. cigarette smoke
strolls through like a butterfly in the gardens
of babylon. grief is a tree with no leaves,
a pit of emptiness i never knew.
a mason jar to place love into,
lid tightly squeezed.

Hannah Dettmann

Hannah Dettmann is from Chicago, Illinois, and is currently an undergraduate at the University of Tennessee. She is working on getting her bachelor's in English with a minor in Secondary Education.

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