Magazine · Poetry

for national poetry month, i by Harper Russet

unwrapped another rejection email

from another magazine, then

unwrapped the poems trying

to find the disease

that made them glow radioactive

in the eyes of poets

better than me;

couldn’t find it, only

saw a hurt i’d worked so hard on

and a hurt i didn’t have to try for

at all, just came naturally,

and i think maybe i sent the wrong hurts

to the southern indiana review.

maybe i left the poems about trees

and clouds

and airplanes

and all that good and dry shit,

that shit real literaries love,

that shit that don’t scare no one –

i left it on the table

and mailed the bodies

of every bad day i’d ever had,

dressed them up in my baby clothes,

and let them wail

right into the editor’s ear:


please, don’t print this.

please, don’t let anyone look at me.



Harper Russet is a 24-year-old butch poet and novelist from Utah. Everything she writes is an argument with God.

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