By Kaley Hutter

Since we can’t speak
of it anymore

want to tuck
in our blouses

and go
cartwheeling?

Then we can spread
our legs

around the cello
in the music store

we can alphabetize
the crepe-myrtles

or go hang
our yearning

on the rumps
of weekday cows

Kaley Hutter is a poet, essayist, and educator from Charlottesville. Her work appears or is forthcoming in EPOCH, Meridian, Witness, and elsewhere. She has received support from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is an MFA candidate at Hollins University.