In my dreams,
wolves talk to me,
as they turn
into other wolves.
Before my eyes,
they slip their skin off,
change form.
There is always one
who becomes
my mother and one
who becomes my father.
*
It feels like a hundred
years since I spoke to you
on the phone.
I remember the crack
of the line, and your
voice when you said goodbye.
*
I go into the night water
looking for the other end
of the string
that used to run from
my belly to your heart.
*
The bees won’t sting
as you approach, but they
whisper messages
in a chain,
so the dead feel
like they’re still alive.
Erin Carlyle
Erin Carlyle is a poet living in Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetry often explores the connections between poverty, place, and girlhood, and can be found in journals such as Tupelo Quarterly, Ruminate, and Prairie Schooner. Her debut full-length collection, Magnolia Canopy Otherworld, is out now on Driftwood Press. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Creative Writing at Georgia State University.
Artwork: Chie Yoshii, Voice Afar
Website: https://www.chieyoshii.com/