These Are the Gifts You Abandoned.

Your body
has become the point

where meeting
can no longer

take place—

Your mouth filled with leaves
the day you borrowed
her dress

(covered in small roses)

and threw it
– as if guided by an invisible line –
out over the ocean.

You led her to a place where

you wept over a line
of lily pads,

each accompanied with a frog,

each gliding down the stream
as though it were

a parading cemetery
you had somehow

grown up with—

(their bodies lying as if asleep.)


About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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