Poetry By Samantha Hund

Ari He CC





Queen Pincushion

it’s me, Queen Pincushion
take one, leave one

Martyr of the Liminal Pizza Joint Parking Lot
Archnemesis of the Desperate Weather Man

you might remember me
from my award-winning role 
as your feminine doormat
and apologetic muse

I’m back again for another round
my most intimate parts on display.





At Dusk

there is a pianist playing Rachmaninoff 
while the white-coats rush to elevators
and drawn faces haunt the corridor

there is a little girl twirling 
beneath the spray of a garden hose
in the city at dusk

there is burning smoke
carried south over the lake
to scorch my lungs

there is a poem here somewhere.
I’ve asked the sparrows
and I’ve asked the moon

but there is only the brittle shell of grace

hands reaching for hands. 
over and over again.





Indeterminate Future

we argued for twenty minutes
about the futility of 
art – and – poetry – and – song

you said;
everything Great is already written
the masterwork done

you persisted;
we are homeless
living in the ashes of Before.

maybe you’re right.

maybe in five, ten, fifteen years
we’ll only remember the ache in our bellies

but not how to feed it.

​

Samantha Hund writes unsettling fiction, and poetry with teeth. Her work appears in Expat Press, Crowstep Journal, and Bottlecap Press. All rumors of vampirism are unsubstantiated. Find her at www.samanthahund.com and @sm_hund on twitter and instagram.


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