Apr/May 2013 Poetry


by Kelly Nelson

Artwork by Clinton McKay

Artwork by Clinton McKay


My Helen days
I call them

those days when I barely warm
my own skin, lift my own

limbs, when the barista
mishears, writes Helen on my cup,

the hard K of me

as I'm lost
to the spiral

handed down from dark wintering drunks. The few people
I've told imagine I dread her

but I don't.
Helen shuffs off

illusion, sits in one place,
guards me better than I guard myself.


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