She dreamt best with her pillow turned inside-out, the forced white moon.

Personified. In the evening, trees grow limbs and swim deep in moonlit lakes, avoiding the ocean, avoiding the moonlight and the crispness of their leaves, the funnel into the sea, escape.

They avoid dreams.

He waited for more.

She didn’t know what else to tell him. The summer was an antique tree, there. A river spiraled like hair around the base of a hill that looked like sea grass. Red had become brown. Black, gray.


It seemed the perfect place to hide children.


Exactly what she didn’t say.

His eyes like clear aqua looked wet in the darkness, reflections off the window, when he asked if Heaven was in the stars–

if their mother could touch them whenever the sky turned black, stars sprinkled across the horizon like confetti.

So she told him of the harbor – the longest way from home,

the only place left to find winter lilies.


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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