At Confessions

There comes a time
when the trees

to trade places.

A woman spirals

through limbs, the nearby
depths of a lake –

You remember the day

when you explained to her
how you wanted

to wait for
a winter

wedding –

You dug up
the charcoal

of leftover
flowers and leaves,

the tree limbs, ad mortem,

and laid them
over the snow.

You watched her hair

and disappear.

You stopped digging

when you finally
hit water.

You stopped digging

when you realized
tree limbs turn

to frozen earth.


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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