Jennifer E. Hudgens, born and raised in Oklahoma. She uses poetry as a means of survival in this weird and sometimes dark thing we call life. Jennifer is graduating from The University of Central Oklahoma with her Bachelors in Creative Writing May 2017. She will begin attending the Red Earth MFA program at Oklahoma City University Summer 2017, with plans to pursue her PhD. Jennifer has been published in several online and print journals. Her first full-length collection was release in 2016 by Swimming With Elephants Publications.
Jennifer is constantly striving to be a better human and poet.
It continues to snow dust.
The sun comes out of the closet.
Jays enter under the door
jumping over a line of air.
Maybe it was just the light,
cracked somewhere, leaked out,
lucky—I thought you shifted away
in voice, my mouth to hear,
My senses are a cushion, and yet this horror appears to taste my morrow. My alarms are useless because they are on fire with the rest of my home.
Be honest now—
just for a minute; I cried.
I had him locked out—
a perfectly good wish.
Privately, for over a year now you drove off and left me.
The place cooled down beaming and bright—
put my name on a silencer (it’s not the end of the world).
In the mirror, the wooden bust of Christ Nicodemus carved
and Joseph commended to the sea, stares out for reflection.
Only a true spell
of fittingly glamorous phenomena
repaired sunstruck imagination—
Too big for your body, the whale of a bed will go on sale; also the dresser, its
three-linked mirrors tall as sails.
The Nazis are back in town.
No, I know. They never, ever left.