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Poem by Layla Lenhardt

The first night, the penumbra over the Catskills

glowed like a vision, the firefly

spangled field was just a reflection of the sky

and it felt like we had waited so long for this.

In the morning, you picked me wildflowers

and I helped you identify carrots in your garden.

It’s more than sun bleached moss and old world maps.

It’s our grim geography.

It’s that we look younger than we are. It means all,

or it means nothing,

you in the drivers seat, as the terra-cotta roads lead me home.

About the author
Layla Lenhardt (she/they) is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection, Mother Tongue (Mainstreet Rag, 2023). Her work appears in Rust + Moth, Poetry Quarterly, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, and elsewhere. She is an alumna of the SAFTA Residency and she was a judge in the 2022 Poetry Super Highway Contest. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize.

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