Soft Hands & Lighthouses

Julie Larick

dear, do you remember our

apartment in montpelier?

the one dipped in

perpetual autumn,

a dingy blood moon canopy

with the turkey-stuffed patchwork couch,

bloated and sinking with fake feathers, the ones i stuck up your nose

and made you sneeze ten times.

do you recall the room

with the smooth oak chairs,

carved with soft hands at the friday flea market

from the lavender lady with the rough smile that winked at our long fingers, locked and laced,

long ago on that september afternoon, love-making by the window i pretended was a lighthouse

by the atlantic,

winking away as the diamond-encrusted daydream rose and sunk like the peach-moon. dear, i

long for the oven-roasted evenings tucked under thrifted quilts we soon lost

toasting for nights we later made up.


Julie A. Larick is a student and writer living in Cleveland. She is an English and Environmental Societies major at The College of Wooster. Julie edits for The Incandescent Review and interns at GASHER Journal. She has poems in Kalopsia Literary Journal, The Incandescent Review, Ogma Magazine, and others. Julie loves to sew, watercolor, and was born in 2003. Her portfolio is and her Twitter is @crookyshanks.