Daily Longing

Camille Newsom

Outside cars and trucks echo.
Sounds bounce between human hives,
shades cover our insides:
chronic bloating and dumb horrors.
A few people pass by,
dogs strung to wrists and belts,
the occasional child in hand,

but these days children are dated.
The cemetery is filled
now that it’s winter, a warm
winter I don’t like. I find
heated encounters with the living
tiring. My dreams to go north
flourish, north where I know

no one, but deeply belong
to the shy sun. Dog knows
it’s a “beautiful day,” requesting
to tan in the yard, to guard our hive
from authority, dog or otherwise.
He lies, nose scooping the breeze,
eyes squinted, a slow pant.


Camille Newsom, a farmer and poet in Western Michigan, observes our living and dying world through humor, grief, and a sprinkling of spite. Her first chapbook is This Suffering and Scrumptious World (Galileo Press, 2023). Her poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Southword, ONE ART, Terrain.org, Main Street Rag, MAYDAY, and others. She can be found on Instagram @cameljonescards and reached at cnewsom24@gmail.com.

Find this piece on page 12 of ISSUE NO. 3.

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