by Alison Hicks

In college he took me up to see it.
I peered inside the shiny disc; it gave no clue.

No ceremony but notice to vacate.
The lab transported nine years ago
in a moving van whose freezer gave out en route.
How do you give up a life?

Seventeen years. If I burn a pinch of sage, strike the bowl,
what rises?


About the Author

Alison Hicks is the author of Kiss, a collection of poems, Falling Dreams, a chapbook, Love: A Story of Images, a novella, and the co-editor of an anthology, Prompted. She has twice received fellowships from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts; her work has appeared in Eclipse, Gargoyle, Quiddity, Whiskey Island, Pearl, and other journals. She leads community-based writing workshops under the name Greater Philadelphia Wordshop Studio (www.philawordshop.com).