They’ve all gone away| Jess Rawling

There is a treehouse

in the wood —  not a house built,

not unnatural shape

of hand-hewn pine in firs,

but the venus

of an owl’s home,

vacant.

I am like the unseen owl,

moving up and up

toward the skin of fog casting

shadows on the mountain.

If I called for you now,

called your name out

loud, I’d be met

with silence,

or the snapping

of a twig.

jess is a poet working and playing in CT. when she isn't composing emails for her mid-level day job, she can be found making messes in her art studio and absolutely dominating at wordle. jess has an mfa from southern ct state university where she also served as poetry editor for their literary journal noctua review. jess's work has been featured in beyond queer words 2021 international anthology. Her twitter is an archive of snacks devoured, dogs cuddled, and hilarious anecdotes from her youth: @jess_rawling.