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About this poet

Emily Hunerwadel is the author of Professional Crybaby (Poetry Society of America, 2018), selected by Kyle Dargan as the winner of a 2017 Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship. Hunerwadel is the managing editor of Slope Editions and media editor of jubilat. She lives in Western Massachusetts.

Lean Into It

I have this disease. It involves perching at parties like some dark owl and slowly shifting into a circling vulture. But I've cracked a couple things like bones against a cliff. For one, every body is a capsule—a collection of lighters, lucky pennies, and pocket lint. And two, there’s no way for me to, reach into you and stretch into your fingertips like gloves. It's all in the synapsing—the way the fluid of your inner ear reflects the swishing of vodka in your stomach. Your evening is an arch, brought to you by the white round pill that carves you out in parabola. Still, there is no hearing. There is the outside world and then the way your ear canals whisper into your mind. All but your voice—which is softest when you have the most to say.

Copyright © 2018 by Emily Hunerwadel. This poem originally appeared in Professional Crybaby (Poetry Society of America, 2018). Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2018 by Emily Hunerwadel. This poem originally appeared in Professional Crybaby (Poetry Society of America, 2018). Used with permission of the author.

Emily Hunerwadel

Emily Hunerwadel

Emily Hunerwadel is the author of Professional Crybaby (Poetry Society of America, 2018), selected by Kyle Dargan as the winner of a 2017 Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship. Hunerwadel is the managing editor of Slope Editions and media editor of jubilat. She lives in Western Massachusetts.

by this poet

poem

I think a lot about the character everybody wanted to put babies inside of
a lot about cracked statues recovered satellites

I think a lot about voyager
I think a lot about gold
I think a lot about that thing the fork is going into

Are you ever the thing the

poem

She’s saying
I wish there could be a metaphorical
investigative committee
and I’m saying
therapy or a priest?

and, behind us,
the excellence of bright children

and, on our walk home,
the left glove

and I’m saying
I’m fueled by kissing and crimes