Poetry: Variations on Night

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By Autumn Owens 

i am the clock turning midnight 

a quiet recognition of an unspectacular event, 

a regularity, a commonality, 

a formal nod to the nighttime of a new day 

i am the girl in her bed 

with her eyes on the ceiling, 

and her heart in the stars, 

the big dreamer, the solemn 

wisher of unattainable wishes 

i am the moon 

halved and wholed and divided and round 

and perfect 

in my brilliant soft light, 

not shining, just there, 

your reliable friend in the dark sky 

i am the dawn 

the thief of darkness, 

filling the corners of the world 

with harsh light 


By Josiah Hackett 

Nothing fills my head 

as I wake. 

But ideas hit me 

in the night. 

7am brings about pain. 

3am, the light 

Nothing frees me from 

everything I can’t outrun. 

Everything flees from me 

the second I’m numb. 

7am takes longer than 

3am can wait. 

Nothing and everything mingle 

as I fail to sleep, 

and ideas of me 

run and run, run away. 

7am calls home until 

3am can return. 

Everything evaluates everything that 

nothing can’t fathom doing for itself. 

Nothing is without me 

for I find a way home. 

7am wakes me up. 

3am, the night 

Everything equals nothing 

I can imagine, it’s way too big for words. 

Be it for me 

that I can learn and create at least one thing. 

7am can become 

3am if I get enough sleep. 


By Claire Prins 

There is a quiet humming, 

Walking down to my house at night. 

It’s not the streetlights like 

Everyone says. 

Those buzz. 

The quiet humming comes from 

Some place deeper, 

Less tied-down, more prone 

To flying away 

Like me. 

I stop at the soccer field, 

Wander through the grass until 

I reach the middle. 

The sky is so clear, 

So grand. 

Stars, something about them 

Feels more homey than here 

Not in a trippy way 

But safe 

And comforting 

When I climb back down 

From space, everything feels 

Sharper, the buzz is meaner. 

Home feels farther, heavier. I cross 

The street. 

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