issue 47: bury me in your dreams

Screen Shot 2018-12-25 at 9.26.55 pm.png

poet's statement

- annelie hyatt (bio)

Annelie Hyatt is an aspiring writer in New York City. Her work explores themes of identity, loneliness, and love in its many redemptive and painful forms. She has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards for her poems, plays, prose, and essays on a regional and national level. She also has an interest in philosophy, history, and computer science.​

climate strike

- annelie hyatt

your hands

the dampness of our palms
sunlit street, heat of march

hand in mine
you did not want to lose me

columbus circle to 81st
chant & mumble

after, it was silent
and my hand remembers

your touch. ghost on columbus
and i become vivid in our

closeness. unspoken

choice. eyes shimmer

as raindrops
on columbus.

my hands, my eyes
are messages of what i couldn’t

tell you. i place my arm around
your abdomen. i do it

because you are a place of solace.
a moment of peace. i fall asleep

and wake up to find you near.
i erase people and posters

and politicians who don’t care.
the apocalypse came

and our cities are veiled in mist.
trout jump from streams

and grass reclaims our streets.
no one is here

but your hand is still in mine.

earth rubs her eyes and wakes
from her own dream:

the war is over.
i speak into sunlight and limelight

and make a sound in a world
silent until life. it vibrates against

time, films of memory and blinks
and dreams

what happened and what we wished
into happening. i blink

and the world ends. i blink
and it starts again

the turning, the closing

people who hold hands and
people who go to sleep

and the world is safe
and no one has died.

remembered ghazal

- annelie hyatt

Because you’re buried in my shoulder, here on my mind
I’m over my head, but I don’t mind


You reach into my shirt to retrieve a bobby pin
& I didn’t have half a mind


to stop you. Some days you hold me as if
it’s a last goodbye. Some days we’re lying in Central Park, minding


our own business. I never told you how much I liked
our deep, blue silences. Blushing face and dark mind,


you retreat to places I can’t reach. Some days you’re here in my hands
but I’m too scared to be near you. Some days I want you out of mind.

talking ghazal

- annelie hyatt


I want to talk
to you about cream filled tarts and Talking

Heads. Your hair curls into a spreading sunlight

as you dance on a persian rug. Don’t talk

to me while I’m listening to music. Guitars and crooned
words are drowned under your moving feet. Talk

about a distorted beat. Now, we’re closing our eyes
and we try to dream. But instead, can’t we just talk?

Still, we’re at a loss for words. Still, you’re stomping out my voice.
Even our silences reveal our love in its empty glory. Sometimes I feel as if we’re all talk.

do you love me

- annelie hyatt

the I and Thou, you do not know
the desert places I crossed to return.
auburn stubble, the darkness of a train car —
it is why I elude the F train, why i cannot kiss you.
why I touch the corner of my right lip. and still
he is everywhere.


vindication is the hollows of my mask. forever a silence
on my tongue, backlit by old fears. I speak in
abused language, words which were hackneyed, lost to me


until I discovered you. into the tall grass
of our scars, I whispered I love you. wanted it to be


what more can I tell you? when you touch me, the mask is gone.
my nights, my lips: erase, evolve, return
I could nearly tell you, in an unguarded moment ——————


I speak to you, in every iteration:
in our private moments — did you see me? could love be an energy?
are we possible? do you love someone?


do you love me?

camus on suicide

- annelie hyatt

there isn’t a true reason to continue existing —
and for each attempt at justification, shaping poem
kissing you

camus could point me to the strangeness of your eyes
how empty i felt at washington square park

a blue deepened into the atmosphere.
i wanted to disappear one night &

took my pillow and comforter into a closet
falling asleep among shoes and old trophies.

used shower heads and combs to turn my arms blue.
at the worst part, i lay in grass and tears gleamed on
my eyelashes. some nights i love you &
some nights i loved you
so fiercely it was a tear which wouldn’t
depart. i watched it become ocean
as i blinked into the world. camus said it’s the only question
to ask: why should i keep on? — and it is not for you
and your delicate dreams
or to call life phosphorescent &
novel. it is not to wait and confess
my darkness inside. it is not rousing from sleep &
remembering the reasons i want to die.
it is not for small victories — somewhere
the sun is on your nose &
blue doesn’t exist. each small flash of what -
could - be
before darkness again. i am not Sisyphus.
i blink &
life grins inside me. i continue &
i continue &

rosemary continuum

- annelie hyatt

kitchen knives and rosemary on the counter,
and on most days i do not feel the rain.
the river consumes itself into exhaustion
like broken wires, tangerine sparks dwindling.


and on most days i do not feel; the rain
bleeds me numb. the smell of her hair tangling itself
like broken wires, tangerine sparks dwindling.
i miss the cherry luster of my lips, instead anxiety


bleeds me numb. the smell of her hair tangling itself
in my teeth, making them age like milk.

i miss the cherry luster of my lips, instead anxiety
hears nothing but the desire to bleed, a tender ache


in my teeth, making them age like milk.
her eyes like baby’s breath, a sunken bridge
hears nothing but the desire to bleed; a tender ache
or a throb, a finger of shadow.


her eyes like baby’s breath, a sunken bridge.
but it was only a feeling,
or a throbbing, fingering the shadows
in a canopied sky, where peaches fall wet from the trees.


but it was only a feeling.

body disappearing

- annelie hyatt

sunlight impaled
the thinning glass of your car.
this was the flushed metal, the concave face
and my body lost in the grass.

i don’t want to speak.
dragonflies land on your teeth
and scrape the enamel and bleeding gums.
i was the flame, smoking into the summer air.

what could you be?
dead in the driver’s seat,
glass whispered into your hair.
silence in the forest &
the front yard. your cheeks no longer
veil the bone.

with forgiveness
upon leaving this body,
i abandon the wreckage.

the disappearing highway and you,
every blade in the becoming earth.
it collapses into the morning &
yields its light.

i wanted to be the flame;
it’s true.


- annelie hyatt

I can hear tears bubbling in my dad’s throat,
though he hides himself behind his sous -

vide cooker. It glows blue onto his eyelashes,
a neon bristle to my deep concave. Smoked
carrots and pork shoulder
scooped, trembling,
onto my plate. I don’t know what to say
but thank you. I pull apart his grief
under my knife and fork. Even now we’re drowned
into our clenched hands. Even now I’m skimming him
for air. If he turned around, he would see me crying

Isn’t this what you wanted?

Instead, I’m washed and washed
in rage. What I wanted was to bury myself
in his shoulder and forget our mortality.
Kiss his cheek
and to find it warm.

end of issue 54. go back to issues page.

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox