LET ME IN / LET ME IN by Josh Nicolaisen

by Josh Nicolaisen / Friday, 16 August 2024 / Published in Issue 30

after Jean Valentine

never knew I could wail so loud
never swallowed hailstones so sharp

my old boots were soaked
my haggard feet were bare

carcass draped across my back
white-tail jostling with each step

plodding back toward where
my people left me

might I ever be held as well
as when you shuttered me home

never begged this much of anything
never drank the moon’s sour milk

I’m not sure how I arrived here
I lost our trail of crumbs

or it was eaten while I slept
and the others scattered

fishers are grinding their teeth
in the sharp dark

I’m pleading with you
I’m looking for light

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About Josh Nicolaisen

Josh Nicolaisen lives in New Hampshire and teaches writing at Plymouth State University. He holds an MFA from Randolph College and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. He has been awarded a grant from Bread Loaf Environmental Writers Conference and a fellowship from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. His work has appeared in Colorado Review, Hunger Mountain Review, So It Goes, Appalachian Review, Poetry South, Bellingham Review, and elsewhere. Find him at www.oldmangardening.com/poetry