Welcome to Labrys, your student-run art and literature collective of Smith College.

I could name every tree
in the forest a few feet from my house
(maple, oak, sassafras, tulip poplar)
where the stream,
(drowned in jewelweed)
was home to a hurricane-hurled wooden bridge
I had hammered with my father
when I was just strong enough to lift
the hammer and bring it down
clattering on the tarnished nail.

Where I first tried to plant a garden,
a bulb bank,
but the groundhogs gobbled, feasted
on the tender tulips.

Where I cried as the lump swelled in my sweet pup’s lungs,
when he wheezed out one long, straining breath,
when he twitched even after death.
It took two injections to euthanize him.
The dentist was there that day
(cradling her sickly tabby)
waiting in the waiting room.
The last mouth I wanted to see.
The mouth full of teeth.
Full of captivating teeth,
terrible teeth.