Sara Iacovelli

after Maggie Nelson and Aimee Nezhukumatathil




these days, 

incrementally, 

are getting longer, 

three minutes more 

each morning. when i 

say days i mean the sun-

saturated hours. when i say 

hours i mean this afternoon’s 

walk through the streets next to 

unshoveled sidewalks. when i say 

sidewalks i mean where the pinks & 

the darker pinks, the blues & the lighter 

blues converge in corners of the 4:00 sky.

when i say blues, what i mean is the opposite 

of seasonal affective disorder. when i say blues 

i mean “suppose i were to say i had fallen in love

with a color.” when i say blues i mean being drunk

on dusk.  when i say dusk i mean that spell i fought 

to stay under. i mean every transient thing that lasts

forever. i mean “the light here on earth keeps us plenty

busy.” when i say forever i mean a geomagnetic storm on

the horizon. when i say home i mean nineteen hours of night.





Sara Iacovelli is a poet and a preschool teacher. She has gone to grad school too many times, though never for writing; she holds degrees in comparative literature and special education. She lives in the northern catskills with her partner, a very large dog, and a very soft cat. Her work has appeared in Barren Magazine, Sidereel Magazine, Monkeybicycle, and Eunoia Review.