From Issue II (2017) 




Shelling peas at the picnic
table, my daughter sank
stained fingernails into a
lepidopteran pod, separated
rigid edges to find
a glittering compound eye,
a blue-veined wing,
a furry body drawing fragile breaths.

It unfurled slow:
sticky feet clung to her finger
until the sun sank to the horizon—
then lifted away, scattering
an orange brush of dust
across her open palm.

Hannah Mae Bissell

Hannah Mae Bissell grew up in northwestern Montana as a homeschooler, chicken shepherd, and child of the woods. She fell in love with poetry at the age of seventeen and earned her MFA from Pacific University in Oregon. Above all else, she swore to herself that there was one thing she would never do: become a teacher. She now makes her living teaching poetry, writing, and editing and publishing at Flathead Valley Community College, where she also serves as editor for As It Happens and Many Voices Press. Her work has appeared in several publications, including Cloudbank, The Whitefish Review, and Minerva Rising.