Poetry by Alec Hershman

             Tom Bennett CC




Chosen

The need to touch oneself, like a stone 
sinks to the bottom of a pond. 

The haze of a soul’s diminishing porch 
brought about by bats, by cellulose 

between burning fingertips, 
& unread journals in the arches 

of a dilapidated church— 
yew boughs reaching in. 



                                              And the whole planet sparkling 
                                              with hills. Gooseflesh ascends


                                   the emporer,                  moss over trees,    widow’s veils


                                              hung like smudges in the windows. 
                                              Not a single family home. For miles, 

                                              music smelled its way through the desert
                                              until the first apostle sprouted ears. ​

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Alec Hershman is the queer author of Permanent and Wonderful Storage (Seven Kitchens Press, 2019), winner of the Robin Becker Chapbook Prize and The Egg Goes Under (Seven Kitchens Press, 2017). He has received awards from the KHN Center for the Arts, The Jentel Foundation, Playa, The Virginia Creative Center for the Arts, and The Institute for Sustainable Living, Art, and Natural Design. He lives in Michigan where he teaches writing and literature to college students. You can learn more at alechershmanpoetry.com.

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