Circle of Referents, Abigail Knutson (December 2025)

Circle of Referents

Chip of sappy bark clinging to the bottom of my heel
reminds me I walked barefoot in the dark yard.
Blanket imprints pressed like crop circles across our yard
reveals all the spots our picnic chased the shade.
Pen’s bold ink which falters into streaky shades
confessed all the words written in this house.
Empty tissue box standing guard so air can be housed
warns of a sneeze’s power: in close quarters a plague dawns.
Needle in the car bereft of gas in the hour of pearl grey dawn
points to all the cross country meets traveled to this week.
Inevitable error my mom finds in every post makes me weak
with gratitude for words written by a human. Every word is how we heal.