top of page


by brittney corrigan


Person of the forest, you whose skeleton

is shaped for aboreal life, you of the curved fingers and toes, you fist walker, you

with your suspensory hook grip. May

your rufous hair center you like the sun.

May the fruit you hold to your long-calling mouth be a planet from which you suckle. May you cast the orb-rind into the understory and swing your star-flare limbs across

each gap. May the nests you build nightly hammock you away from us, we who flatten your trees for our many oils. In this growing darkness, may your titian bodies

be the only lights that burn.

Brittney Corrigan was raised in Colorado but has called Portland, Oregon her home since 1990. She holds a degree from Reed College, where she is also employed. Brittney’s poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, and she is the author of the collection Navigation (The Habit of Rainy Nights Press) and the chapbook 40 Weeks (Finishing Line Press). Her newest collection, Daughters is forthcoming from Airlie Press in 2021. For more information, visit Brittney’s website:

bottom of page