Jade Hancer



sweetbitter honeysuckle saltwater
wide-eyed driftwood heartworm.
bygone, jawline, backbone, bloodwork
these are things we, as a language, keep—
fireworks \ fisheye—together
by word of mouth. i say them quick
and without breach in between each before
sleep. sunrise arrives with just your name
and mine but the sound is twofold, too
tightly wound together to pray for so i bite down.
i want your mouth-mark on my shoulder
with a bruise-tattoo and i want your teeth
to ache so bad five years from
now you're sick
of bone-broth soup. you go to the dentist.
he holds his gloved hands together
as you gag on the smell of synthesized
mint and plastic. daydream.
downpour. says it's the same pain as when he's forgotten
something. you can't remember. except it
sounds different. tastes like the tip of my tongue.
bluebells. milkweed. breath-stroke. flowers
pressed—your cheek on my breast. without rhyme or
warm rain. but best, there's only one
sunburnt swandive whale-heart
room to breathe us both between.



the spike of blood tulip-ing on
the tip of my finger when i
make my first incision, missed
and kissed my own
hand. day-moon. soul sing.
sadly to self. moving meticulously
from ripe to reeking of brown sugar
rancid / if i keep replanting
my broken toothbrush and basil seedlings
deeper into the pot in which
they wilt, will. i. go. soon. and
will someone plant me deep within
the rot in which i gratefully ruin. bloated
bigger with something less
than light. when. is my destruction made
productive. if i mix paint
from elbow scab-brown
and hibiscus sugar with
the sixteen year old hickeys that
still mysteriously resurface
red, and the beet-blood licked from
my bare breasts—red
again. convince me. if i sit
in the sun a little longer, will i go soon?


In Alphabetical Order

what if life and death are not in opposition? you're a candy-coated vertigo, back porch caramel melt sunburnt cherry knees splintered blue paint itch right just slightly above the overgrown backyard raised white benign lump-cloud clove cigarette brought to the bottom lip blister last summer's popsicle sticks holding up signs in the garden; take-turns tell me how do i tell you the eyelash tethered to your cheek the freckle on your left butt cheek is breaking my heart, and it doesn't hurt it doesn't hurt it doesn't


Jade Hancer

While I am often busy with my studies as a nursing student at Washington State University, I routinely make time for a meditative yoga practice to ground myself, and allow my creative thoughts to grow. This includes several weekly sessions of vinyasa yoga in the comfort and peaceful solitude of my living room. I often follow my yoga practice with ten minutes of vipassana meditation. During my practice, I enjoy the clarity of open windows, and the warm support of the creaky wood floors beneath my mat. I live in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho with my partner and our many potted plants.