losses

“Hidden Losses”, “The Imaginary Weight of Bones” and “Languages”

by Hannah Pelletier

hidden losses

Hidden Losses

It never crossed my mind—

what would happen after


reaching, finally,

that happiness.


How it would feel

giving up


the open-ended beauty of indifference,


my love of

following the dark


into the secret corners

of people, cities


—feelings

that can only


be scraped against


by willing to give it all up

at a moment’s notice—


To be done

finding love by


pulling it out of the dirt

by its broken arms &


making art

from all those flying parts—


The strangeness of no longer

breathing while pressed against


a window to the world,

that pang


the perfectly protected

grief

of never getting that thing.


—Following those empty

little proofs of desire


right to the edge

of a cliff


& the quiet feat

of


climbing down

again


with no one

watching.

The Imaginary Weight of Bones

In my dreams,

I’m writing dictionaries for words that mean

lighter than light, darker than dark—


I’m finding the names for

your cold shoulder,

the quiet tempers

of your bottomless lakes.


Your sandy banks are

burying me.


I try to suffocate you in that sleep—

and you, breaking my bones,

are planting little death

kisses down my thighs.


Are you here with me?


Running in the forest,

the wild horses stomping

in the wet night —


Phantom aches, a hunger

so loud— I find

myself leaving, your eyes

in the trees when I go.

Languages

Staring at your hands,

it seems the paper cuts

from my love letters

have healed completely.


The latest draft in my head

is looking for a reason

to bandage

your finger tips up, again.


At midnight, you can’t let go

of the leather wheel of

your parked truck. —


How many times did I say

“Russian—

is an impossible language.”


After you, quietly

asking that I try. Well.


Even in English, “I’m

“sorry” just keeps stumbling over

over

“—Ask me

again.”

About the Author

Hannah Pelletier

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Hannah Pelletier studied English at the University of New Hampshire where she received the Richard M. Ford writing award two years in a row. Hannah is a 23 year old expat currently living in Nancy, France with her husband and fifteen fish.