SIX POEMS by HANNAH TREASURE
KROGER, ONE STAR
We felt assaulted by the clerk’s energy in this grocery store.
There’s incredibly dark matter hanging around the produce aisle.
If you are sensitive or in tune with the spirit world, you’ll have
no time to inspect your apples for bruises. We requested
a cake for our nephew Darl’s birthday, but before we left
the icing melted Darl into Door. Happy Birthday, Door.
You know, like a portal to hell. I received a coupon for
seasonal cookies as compensation, but I won’t be back.
HIGH-WAISTED SHORTS, FIVE STARS
Finally, shorts that don’t turn my legs into little sausages.
Finally, my jelly rolls, my muffin tops, the body bakery
is closed for business. These hide the crab leg indents
of my knees from men and children. These are stunning
if, like me, you have a potato sack for an ass. A spell:
cankles and chub rub be gone. No digging into skin.
If these shorts were a house, they would add a long
curvy driveway, so anyone passing by would see all
signs of life reduced to a pure, glittering porch light.
OPRAH DVD BOXED SET, THREE STARS
This doesn’t have the episode I’m looking for, the one where a woman says
there are always signs before a tragedy. She knew a murderer was in her house
because the trash cans were askew. A frog looked her right in the eye as she
unlocked the front door. It was telling her: don’t you feel something’s wrong?
Oprah nodded solemnly. The woman found her sister just in time to see the pink
of her cheeks fade, to say I’m sorry, I should have known by the trash and the frog
you were in danger. Watched it one day with the flu as a kid—I’m still looking
for the signs.
PREMIUM HAND SOAP, FOUR STARS
I am trying to show you I’ve moved past that part of my life, when you drop by to return
my hairbrush and mouth retainer, you’ll ask to use the bathroom before heading out, you
and your tiny bladder, and while you’re washing your hands you’ll take one extra second
maybe two, figuring out this new scent of gardenia, good decisions, lemon zest, and who
even is this person who invests $50 into bathroom hand soap, did you ever really know
her at all, maybe there were parts never illuminated that would make it worth trying again.
CITRONELLA CANDLE, FIVE STARS
What other miracle cost seven dollars? These faint rings appear
when you light it. I had a glass of wine on the patio for the first time
in five years. My daughter used to sit out here with me and once
she left all I could think about were the bugs. When she was a kid
we’d sleep out here some summer nights. We’d wake to pouring rain
on our cheeks and I’d make a beeline for the house, but she’d move
tenderly across the wood, as if protected by something.
OMAKASE, FIVE STARS
When I got emotional over the yuzu pairing with smoked hay
the chef patted my back and said it’s alright, I can just eat.
I don’t have to tell my love that I love them every moment I can.
Aren’t words more often spoken out of fear anyway?
If you really love something—the gentle grains, familiar
warm breath—it’s already known. He was making a lot of sense.
He said, when you eat this next bite (lobes of uni, shiso mist)
I’d be more flattered if your experience remains yours.
Hannah Treasure is a Lecturer in the Department of English at Clemson University. She received her MFA in Poetry from Brooklyn College. Her chapbook, “Written in the Stars,” was selected as the Editor’s Choice for the 2025 Tomaž Šalamun Prize, and will be published with Factory Hollow Press in 2026. Her work appears in Sugar House Review, Annulet, The Greensboro Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Afternoon Visitor, No Dear, Volume Poetry, and elsewhere. Instagram