Poetry

Tessa Withorn

Meet the Author

If you want to meet the author, flip to the back cover. On this page, there’s just an imaginary girl with a copper helmet: pointed ears–studded–stag-horned. I thought I could get away from the deer metaphor, but I spend too much time in meadows. Look up at the sky and there’s Orion standing over me again. Whatever’s under his belt. Silent, pacing, insisting I meet his gaze. “He's just trying to intimidate you,” the older women say. “If he makes you feel uncomfortable, go tell someone.” I try not to look like a wounded animal when I approach the nursing staff. “That guy over there keeps staring at me.” In a place that moves like pre-internet, I can't help but wonder why they transfer me to the other ward so quickly. If it has anything to do with an inventory of physiognomy: white skin–thin frame–uterus. I’m getting better at connecting the dots. Constellations are just indices; they point in the direction you should run to next.


Tessa Withorn is a librarian in Louisville, KY. Her poems have appeared in Rust + MothMiracle Monocle, and Proceedings of the Document Academy. She tweets about teaching, libraries, and poetry @tessawithorn.

Emily Corwin