Will

Will

Katie Hartsock

I came home late to a manila envelope. 
It was so quiet when I saw the book, the one
with your face on the cover.

Where is the corkscrew? asks the stag
who has wandered all his life in densest woods
and suddenly arrives at a field with no cover.

I didn’t know what to do with you; meanwhile
rivers quickened. But if you want to talk like friends,
I’ve professed love and it’s felt like a cover.

I’ve saved red solo cups because of the lips
that drank their depths, I’ve been late to the ferry
believing I still could board. My favorite song is a cover,

and Berman died while I was driving. Some days
I just want that moment that glows a moment after
the bedside lamp goes out. And at my neck, the covers.

---

Katie Hartsock
Poet

Katie’s second poetry collection, Wolf Trees (Able Muse Press), was listed as one of Kirkus Review's Best Indie Books of 2023. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Threepenny Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Image, RHINO, The New Criterion, Dappled Things, Literary Matters, Classical Outlook, New Verse Review, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Originally from Youngstown, Ohio, she teaches at Oakland University in Michigan, and lives in Ann Arbor with her husband and sons.

Photography by Coppertist Wu