Each Year by Whitney Hudak

Photo of alarm clock and calendar
Photo by Towfiqu Barbhuiya on Unsplash

feels this way.
Familiar like the abstract
place you grab for
when you’re curled in despair
on your own kitchen floor
begging to go home,
not knowing where you mean.
No matter whose hair and breath
lend the other pillowcase its scent,
which farm grew this squash
so delicately sliced,
whose face you lean toward,
lips to their ear,
cupping a joke.
No matter which gone person
you scan the crowd for
year after year.


Whitney Hudak
Whitney Hudak is a CNM and poet living in Newport, R.I. Her work has appeared in Burningword Literary Journal and Cactus Heart, who very kindly nominated her for a Pushcart Prize. She has work forthcoming in Pine Hills Review. She holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars, a DNP from Columbia University, and is thrilled to be here in Streetlight Magazine.

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