Hannah Cohen lives in Virginia and is a MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte. She's currently a contributing editor for Platypus Press. Recent and forthcoming publications include The Shallow Ends, Severine, Noble/Gas Qtrly, and others.

Hannah Cohen


No walls, only windows descending, rot. The god house without its priest. Crows hold mass in the roots. A tribe of yellow flowers crushed. Trash blue containers drip hornets, devoted to morning. The steeple a compass broken at its neck, no higher answer to seek.

I used to drive by this dilapidated church every morning on my way to work. After decades of abandonment, it was finally being torn down; the land had been bought by a car dealership. Near the end, I could see the sunlight and trees through its foundation. Poetry has the power to immortalize the gone things, and this poem keeps that little no-name church standing in all its ruin.

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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