JoAnna Novak

In Your Hands



Friday: I ride the

elevator up


to see

you, common


bird, allocated

to thundersnow


and wet

mornings. I want


my silence;

flight, her


solitaire court,

her airlifted


moving panties



skirts, covers

down. Brass,


I chew up

and swallows.

Playing House



You, with the bully

coat, and you, chewing

big black shoes, my soft

black stockings, any hap-

hazard hope. Scents of

sweet squirrel, slurpy

yam, interstate rainwater

bowls. Sounds of

calm down, disposal

hum and canyon hearts.

Can’t we pant together?

Can’t I call this enough?


JoAnna Novak

JOANNA NOVAK is the Pushcart-Prize-nominated author of two chapbooks: Laps (Another New Calligraphy, 2014) and Something Real (dancing girl press, 2011). Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Guernica, the Los Angeles Review, eleven eleven, Hobart, Illuminati Girl Gang, and Petri Press. With Thomas Cook and Tyler Flynn Dorholt, she edits Tammy. She lives in Massachusetts, where she is working on a memoir.