EDITORIAL
Editorial
Hills Hoist Volume 4 is filled with a sense of belonging and intimacy; it measures time and the degrees of distance between people…
POETRY
All our spilling comes from within
I knot my tongue and twirl the steel cord /
suspending me. Motherhood unwinds herself neatly / into spools.
environmental studies
you have never asked me to do a thing. /
i breathe, you look at the trees, find me /
a seed pod, tell me their species.
Measuring with Coffee Spoons
put down your cup until your heart / resumes its march into evening / with the clatter of cutlery
Purbakala
There is something sacred within me /
That I cannot pull out /
And cannot touch
Choose Your Own Adventure
in the dry husks of silent reading afternoons
/ we vanquished dragons, slayed hunters, pried open the chest
To Make a Window
you need a shore of sand /
melted into lava /
after having sex with the sun /
cooled into a shock
MICROFICTION
Catification
It began in small ways, in the extra gleam she gave to the finish of her hair in the morning…
What I think about at funerals.
Swaying. I don’t know why. Veering to the wrong side. One. Still shimmying. Two. Straight for us. Three.
Waiting for My Father
I’d button up my shirt or coat and keep waiting, like a wife. I was good at it, at deprivation.
Rochford Street
We climbed the front steps. If we got rid of the junk cluttering up the verandah and put in a baby gate, we could make it safe for Oren.
Unpicked Hems
Mrs. Jones walks the line, her pants hissing as she thwacks a wooden ruler against her palm.
This issue of Hills Hoist, and the Jumpstart a Journal workshop 2024, were supported by ClickUp and Baidam Solutions
