Two poems by Jacqueline West

Poetry – Issue 9 | May 2010

To a Friend in Alaska

From a kitchen table, McKinley is impossible.
Hard to believe in the white mass of polar bears,
in whales’ ancient songs along the ice floe.

The Northern Lights stop here now and then
like Vegas entertainers on layover, dangling
their reluctant ribbons over the sodium lamps,
and I think of you on the still-warm hood of a car;
I think of you reaching out a hand that comes back
pink and green, and covered with stars.

1 2 >

Jacqueline West lives amid the bluffs of eastern Minnesota. Her favorite trips involve opportunities to explore crumbly old cemeteries and drink lots of unusual coffee. Her work has appeared in places such as flashquake, Inkwell Journal, The Pedestal Magazine, and St. Ann’s Review. You can find Jacqueline here.

Read our current issue, Issue 9 | May 2010:

Literary Bohemian

Poetry – Issue 9 | May 2010