We were only aware of small parts

of ourselves and they became



Just our crimson kickpleats.

Just our ghillies, the

black latticework of ankles, our fists,

white hearts clenched

around a bit of sleeve.




Over — the stiff panels of our skirts

closing back over our legs like trapdoors.


And when we took them off, our empty dresses

stood on their own along the wall,

as if to say

if we fall, and

ear pressed to the ground,

like a row of bright tents or overturned



Katie Hogan recently completed an MFA in Poetry at the University of New Hampshire.

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