A. Jenson
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The Funerary Pin
our cedar rose is from a funeral
these things can be hard to throw away
even standing beneath a cedar tree
even cutting trail through a cedar forest
the fallacy: brittle bodies like ours are meant for boxes
our cedar rose for a glovebox
yet we cross the continent
we go for walks together at low tide
did you ever see a plover’s nest
did you chip at mussel shells until they shone like ivory buttons
did the buttons and eggs make you think of weddings
two birds fought over a crab and it fell from the sky
I know you’ve done this—
watched over a smaller life until you were certain
it will walk on its own
what if I told you that dying is neither lonely nor immediate
that we die by dilutions, by eons
going places we could never have predicted
pinned to someone’s lapel
an emptiness in the bellies of egrets
the thumbprint on the back of a mystified crab
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A. Jenson (they/them) is a trans writer, artist, and farmer. Hailing somewhat from Southern Appalachia, somewhat from the Midwest, and somewhat from the Pacific Northwest, they are hard at work on a manuscript about home. You can read their most recent work in 2024 issues of Arkansas Review, Bellevue Literary Review, and Cult Magazine. Their work is also featured in the 2025 Washington Queer Poetry Anthology. Find them on Instagram at @adotjenson.​