The Hairdryer || Sarah Cozort

Its slender handle a swan neck over the tub,
like a low bird or amphibian that lives to peer,
to lurk, to sleep. Its electric umbilicus rooted
to the wall. As with a new infant,
its head is oblong, unreasonably shaped;
its mouth wide as its face; its teeth, an iron grate
that howls in my ear in the early morning.
Steam rises from a new bath, and I immerse
my body, think of the man I’ve left,
and the first time he took me by the lake:
a swan, hidden by the tangled overgrowth
of a wild August, dove from a low cliff.
We were startled into love, having forgotten:
where there is Odette, there is Odile.


Sarah Cozort is an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Memphis.

Originally published in the FALL 2018 edition of the Helix.




We read submissions on a rolling basis

Subscribe To Our Newsletter

Get notified about news and postings