CLAIRE DENSON
University of North Carolina, Greensboro

Tender Poem

I saw a treadmill in the grass 
when I passed on the train
 
the morning after we saw
the two baby deer scuttling
 
in the street and then a larger deer 
dead. You said you once stared
 
at your dad’s pearl-handled
pistol, turned it over and over
 
in your palm. When I said
my hands get sad, that they
 
get so sad the feeling travels
up and I can’t move, you lifted
 
my arms in the shower one 
by one tender as a mother
 
and I swear every single time I have
an emotion I forget about the world
 
before it. Listen. When we saw
the fawns running in circles
 
you promised they were happy
to be free; I tried 
 
to memorize your hands 
on the steering wheel. Because
 
at night when I hold on harder
than I’d like to admit, you don’t
 
flinch, just rub your thumb 
against my fist and tell me 
 
that sure maybe you’ll die 
soon but probably not
 
and that it helps to remind myself 
always keep looking at my feet.

Claire Denson is a 2020 graduate of the MFA Writing Program at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and holds a BA from the University of Michigan. Claire is soon to be a staff poetry reader at The Adroit Journal and her poems have appeared in Hobart, Crab Fat Magazine, and Hooligan Magazine, along with a poetry book review in The Lit Pub. You can find her on Twitter @shmaireshmen.