by Hollie Dugas
In other words, objects I’ve given away
coming back to haunt me, their tiny transient
spirits tied to me by thread, coming back
to play now that our lives are separate
from one another—some kind of
knickknack karma. In other words,
it’s uncanny; another woman handling
my trinkets, like the duo of elephant
figurines, hand-painted with red dress
and bow, bought in courtship, a language
of love. How can I ensure she will
know them like I do? I am deep with
ancient fear and when my father died
it was difficult to tell—sounds emerging
from his body up until the coroner came
to collect. In other words, I have trouble
letting go, handing him over to a place
where he’ll have a private role without me,
a place I would forever be bound to
by a violet stream, the vein connecting us.
Hollie Dugas lives in New Mexico. Her work has been selected to be included in Barrow Street, Reed Magazine, Crab Creek Review, Redivider, Pembroke, Salamander, Poet Lore, Watershed Review, Mud Season Review, Little Patuxent Review, Chiron Review, Louisiana Literature, and CALYX. Hollie has been a finalist twice for the Peseroff Prize at Breakwater Review, the Greg Grummer Poetry Prize at Phoebe, Fugue’s annual writing contest, and has received honorable mention accolades in Broad River Review. Additionally, “A Woman’s Confession#5,162” was selected as the 2017 winner of Western Humanities Review’s Mountain West Writers’ Contest. Recently, Hollie has been nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize and for inclusion in Best New Poets 2021. She is currently a member of the editorial board for Off the Coast.