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1 poem
by Claire Denson

Claire Denson's work appears in Salt Hill, Booth, the minnesota review, and Massachusetts Review, among others. She holds a BA from the University of Michigan and an MFA from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, where she taught courses and served on the editorial staff for The Greensboro Review. She reads for The Adroit Journal and currently lives in Brooklyn, NY. More about Claire at

Bio Myth

Claire Denson is a late American poet, dates 

unknown. Her number is published in Sharpie 

on stall walls. She’s published with a stick 

in the dirt. Locals dig up Claire’s grave 

each season. She’s dancing on the bridge


in Michigan, cradling still beating 

hearts ripped from the rib cages

of bears. She eats river muck; her mouth 

foams waterfalls. Her grave refills itself 

overnight. She bathes with alligators 


in autumnal leaves and currently lives 

in a commune where she never does

the dishes. Claire’s work concerns

the train coyote. Her work concerns

the exit row. She writes in guttural


code and speaks to the unknown. Stardust

cannibal, she clothes her mirror. She writes

at her desk in the dark. Her knife’s

the source of light. She currently lives alone.

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