Poetry By Meagan Chandler

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After a Night Out

The clouds refuse to part 
Enough for me to believe
It is six in the morning.
Cleveland’s Terminal Tower 
Still shines blue and white.

The pad of my finger grows cold
On the glass as it cuts      
Paths through condensation. 
Starting at the bottom,
I trace a trail of clarity 
But pause near the top
When I can’t decide 
If I should finish with a loop
Or on a straight line. 

The drone of the highway fades
As we drive past
A neon hand not yet lit
From the tarot reading room.
Retracting my own,
I face my palm
And try to discern its creases. 
One looks like 
The semicircle sun
From a picture I drew as a little girl.


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Meagan Chandler holds a bachelor’s degree in creative writing from Baldwin Wallace University. She currently attends the Poetry MFA program at Bowling Green University. Her works have been previously published in Baldwin Wallace’s student-run literary journal, The Mill. She placed as a finalist and runner-up in the 2023 competitions for the Hollin’s University Literary Festival. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and six dogs.