Three Ways of Moving Through Time


I turn animal, cannot know my own body 

it bloats and hums, fills with blood.

As Plath said, I’m on a train, window world 

blurring. A fast moving train that pulls a cart

of farm animals, goats and cows, a corral 

pumping low moans and milk.




You fall 

out of 

the world

cords unloosed


stutter start 

and stop 

the blood 

that slows

all body 

cut out 

to float 

away and crash

through stars

the black sky 

becomes porous. 




a wise woman warns me – success is vicious. no use in measure, some mama is ever more amorous, wise, warm. i see errors ever over. i am unsure. a new maze. nervous, no armor on me now. a son’s cries wear me. mix me. a wise woman is rescuer, servant, savior. a wise mama’s arms are rivers, can cease a son’s cries. some answer or manna arrives. we are near wise now, nearer, even in our insecure wavers, errors we unmeasure success, an erasure, no an immersion”

Rebekah Denison Hewitt

Rebekah Denison Hewitt lives outside of Madison, Wisconsin with her family. She works as a librarian and is an assistant editor at Orison Books. Her work has appeared recently in The Rumpus, Gulf Stream, and Narrative. You can connect with her at