If I look long enough through the glass
of my own longing, I find our lives
converging, submerging. They linger
there as if I could almost reach out
and touch you once in a while
and maybe for good. Do you remember
forget-me-nots? They used to bloom
blue in summer. Summers we spoke
to the sky my father would argue
talk is cheap, but once, I swallowed
a blue jay, and to this day my voice
is singing. Do you hear it? Do you see
we can paint with our own mouths’ light?
Originally from Pennsylvania, Alicia Hoffman now lives, writes, and teaches in Rochester, New York. She has two collections of poems: “Like Stardust in the Peat Moss”(Aldrich Press, 2013) and “Railroad Phoenix” (Aldrich Press, 2017). Her poems have appeared in a variety of journals, including Word Riot, A-Minor Magazine, Softblow, Radar Poetry, The Watershed Review, Penn Review, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop at Pacific Lutheran University.