at the bewitching hour

by nat raum

Adrian Dascal

let it be known: i am not grateful for tragedy. i hold no love

for the years that have worn me thin as lived-in cotton, down to my

memory who chose to keep only silence. the spaces within me

that can still well with joy are reserved for the hours between

midnight and four in the morning while the world stirs in their beds and i

am aching i’m so alive. faint pulse rallies my muscles after i trudge home

past two, but only for the glory of japanese whiskey, neat, sipped

in the kitchen alone. only for the tealglow of rainfall on tv

mimicking the way your bedroom bathed in blue when i’d tiptoe around dead bees

and crawl over you, slumbering before a timed-out screen with your mouth agape.

i lived on for only the promise of moonrise muffling ringing ears and gnashing teeth,

if only for a few hours.

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nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist and writer from baltimore, md. they hold a bfa in photography and book arts and they are currently a first-year creative writing mfa candidate at the university of baltimore. nat is also the founder and editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press, a queer literature and art publishing space. past and upcoming publishers of their writing include Kissing Dynamite Poetry, en*gendered lit, and Delicate Friend.