Jar of Night

/ nightjar. The star-strung shine
within glass / the cryptic sight of
nocturne. Every orbit a transparent
shaking. Every glimpse and glance
in dream-camouflage. Moth-filled,
dusk-held, dawn plumed, milk
Chupacabra. The jarring, lightless
road trip; a daydream like roadkill.
An imagining from the glass-strewn,
star-strewn ground.


We Whittle Silver

birches down to their sap, drink
them hollow & hungry. Metaphor
for nesting dolls without sisters
to fill their un-carved hearts. For
picturesque purple mountain ranges
empty of amethyst. For a hundred
thousand eyes, hollow & wooden &
omniscient, smoothed shut by the dark
carving knife of night.


There Is No Daylight

without today. No mouth without closure.
No serration without sharpening the snow.
The geometry of a cut, the angle of blood.
Hide-less animal, s(k)in-taken creature.
Hide, hid, had. This light a once was.
A blue-tongued oracle of hello, bloodline
reaching to the wise woman of goodbye.
Her teeth tapered to winter-blades,
framing words to end with.

JADE RIORDAN is an Irish-Canadian poet. She lives north of Canada’s 60th parallel and attends university further south (where it’s warmer and the sun sets at a more reasonable time). Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Blue Nib, Contemporary Verse 2, Cordite Poetry Review, Noble / Gas Qtrly, takahē, and elsewhere.