Kristin Lueke

January 2025 | poetry

i ask the sun too much

each plant i’ve kept alive so far i call my friend.

each of my friends has its own quiet prayer,

it’s called how i’d like to be cared for—

for instance, from a distance, please & gently,

within reach, without expectation but this—

i will try to stay alive if you try to understand me.

one is never not hungry for all my attention—

the gift of you bending you backwards

to please me. still another’s impossible,

erratic at best & unwilling to clarify—

you’ll just have to learn to learn what i want.

what i want? is a room where the light finds me

easy & all that we need, we have.

i tell my kin the world is burning

fetch a cool glass of water. this side of western ruin

we know as much about fire as we do about forever.

we have four words for the fear of everything,

start praying. begin with god / end with specifics.

ask—for your ancestor, the skill to keep all winter

a single flame alive. ask for revelation, for wanting

no weapon. to be closer, now, to you.

Kristin Lueke

Kristin Lueke is a Chicana poet and author of the chapbook (in)different math (Dancing Girl Press). Her work has appeared in Sixth Finch, Wildness, Frozen Sea, Maudlin House, HAD, and elsewhere. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she was a finalist for the 2024 Porter House Review Poetry Prize and received the Morris W. Kroll Poetry Prize from Princeton University, where she earned an AB in English. She also holds an MA from the University of Chicago. Kristin lives in northern New Mexico and writes at www.theanimaleats.com.

Julien Griswold

January 2025 | poetry

I invent a time machine to go back and witness the moment before my birth certificate signing, my parents’ silent prayer before clicking the pen

To Julie, once, Julie, now, Julien, forever, my heart.

What if your name was Antoine or Rebecca or Augustine or Vicky or Beatrice or Walter? Or Ishmael or Clark or Bianca or Dixie or Shauna or Joey or Thaddeus or Milton? Or world-eater, snail-chaser, big walrus, weak handshake, smoke break, sweet manger, good morrow, high heaven, smug winker, long freight car, old matchbox, big sister, door greeter, worm hooker, over-easy, glossy nightville, snooze daily, toast burning, smell-licker, wet shellac, deer herder, my snowman, hot reminder, the shake-up, boy howdy, listen closest, beggar breadbasket, pigeon spikes, gloveless finger, ugly watch guard, open present, pushing wedlock, a gardenia, child’s shadow, castle drawstring, axe in-motion, mother’s comfort, one toe showing, fish-in-ziplock, dear old fellow, the grand lady, hemline feather, long-lost tabby, “Dad, I love you,” the day after mourning, the night before morning, small star one, dancing creased shoes, how to hold you, someone’s baby, street dog drinking.

Julien Griswold

Julien Griswold (they/them) thinks insurance agencies should cover notebook costs as therapy expenses. When they aren’t laying their thoughts bare in said notebooks, they study at Brown University. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Palette Poetry, Pinhole Poetry, The /temz/ Review, Poetry Online, and elsewhere. Connect with them online @cheerupjulien.