Lisa Low
Crush
I thrilled to think how fast those hands
could pull me from a fire, but it was
what you said about Plath that made
you my god. Standing at the board,
dragging your fist down the chalk,
talking of the shock Emily Dickinson
gave you, I caught every come hither
look you threw. Poetry already had me
in its arms; already bent its intoxicating
lips to mine, but coming from you,
it was a new kind of love. I planted
myself in the front row and swung
at every fastball you threw, skidding
past home, skirt-up, to please you.
I wanted to catch your eye, then maybe
your heart, but you weren’t as clever
as I thought, and it was easy to make you
smart; easy to catch you in my crosshairs
and plummet you to something small.
I was young and I wanted to win, and
I didn’t know then, how much and how
dearly, I would pay for it later: my sin.
Henrietta
My father was always on the move
or on the run; fast-talking with strangers,
heading out for a beer; having no
time for us; showing up late for dinner,
my mother in the kitchen, stomping
her foot and saying damn that man; but,
in his old age, my father fell head over
heels for a squirrel he named Henrietta.
He dreamt about her nights and kneeled
on the back porch to feed her crumbs.
Shyly, as if they were courting, she came
up the back steps; shyly, as if they were
courting, he fed her acorns from his open hand.
Lisa Low was first runner-up for the Shakespeare Prize at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Her poetry has been nominated for Best New Poets 2025 and shortlisted for Ploughshares. Her work has appeared in many literary journals including The Adroit Journal, The Boston Review, The Massachusetts Review, Pleiades, Phoebe, and Southern Indiana Review. Her first chapbook Late in the Day was released in July 2025 from Seven Kitchens Press.
