ANNA LEAHY

Diurnal Heart

Here, a nest of hatchlings
can be lost and still sit in my chest

on the day when whatever I loved
for no reason couldn’t survive

in silence or tears. I feared the worst:
the extra seconds of staying in sight,


grateful for the stop sign at the corner
so that I could see my mother


leave more slowly from my perch
on the couch as I looked through the window.


When I was a child all those years ago,
my mother kept returning then.


She followed the sun across the sky,
soaring back to my constant continent

again and again until it emptied her.

Anna Leahy’s latest books are the poetry collections What Happened Was: and Aperture and the nonfiction book Tumor. Her work has appeared at Aeon, Atlanta Review, The Atlantic, Bennington Review, BuzzFeed, Poetry, Scientific American, The Southern Review, and elsewhere, and her essays have won top awards from Mississippi Review, Los Angeles Review, Ninth Letter, and Dogwood. She edits the international Tab Journal and has been a fellow at MacDowell and the American Library in Paris. More at https://amleahy.com.