The literary magazine Dislocate has accepted my poem "Counting" for its spring issue.

Because the poem will be in print and not on the web, I'll also put the poem here, though you should buy a copy of the magazine when it comes out!:

Counting

One. They say there is a place where

your body remembers: the heat

that rose from your summer childhood,

the way the cicadas persisted in the trees and

at night, when power went out, your mother

placed fans up against screen doors.

At night, when the thunderstorm rolled in, you

counted each beat from flash to rumble, you thought

about swimming pools and how the safest place

to be was tangled in your covers, where the bogeyman

could not see you. Two.

But what of the bogeyman who places fans?

What of the monsters in the trees, the robins

with fangs (it’s there, I know

it’s there) and the crickets, the way the thighs

run furiously, anxiously? Three. The way

the night has a way of creeping, slowly,

around the room.

Four. They say when you get to five, it’s a mile

away and you can’t help but hope it gets closer,

so it can cover the fear, so you can

blame the barred doors on lightning, on keeping

the night out, not the mother. You do not

want to remember the biggest secret, you do not—

Five.