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C.N.P Poetry 

  • Writer's pictureCathexis Northwest Press

Happy Solace; The Nocturnal Room

By: Holly DeBevoise

Happy Solace

Guess what.

You don’t get to be alone anymore!

*confetti confetti confetti confetti*

Call the florist!

Beckon the critters,

the dimply ones!

Hang the forest!

Sew the lichen

into their small,

quiet forevers.

The cold months were already a favorite

so why not frost them

and sprinkle them

and stab them with candles

and light the candles.

There are perhaps too many

and therefore too much flame.

Here, what’s great about a fire

isolated to the cold months

is that it can be tossed out of

the narrative like an assumption.

To fall for each other

in the following smoke season:

snow of ash,

sun a hot pink button.

*ash ash ash ash*

No, no, no, no,

don’t yet remember

the toasted alone from before.

Here, have a blanket.

Yes, just one.

The Nocturnal Room

Unfounded as a frog donning socks! A frog elegant and a gentleman. Lithe fingers tipped for grasp, for rub. Only in swamp-dark. Only while bog-drunk.

To croak: “Meaningless between us”. The marsh’s din muffles our breaths while we sleep. Night creature’s chorus, throaty tithes in guttural refrains.

Herald the fern uncurling. Herald the fawn’s head in the mouth, between the teeth. Herald how lonely! Strong when lonely, according to you. Better for it, despite me near offering

touch. In spite of moss I tuck into your nest. In spite of dead treetops dismantling their silhouettes of packed leaves into a drove of blackbirds.

A black swarm of good messengers, caroling plural. Plural and warmer.


Holly DeBevoise is a poet, illustrator, and baker by trade. She holds a BA in Creative Writing from Florida State University. As a recipient of the 2017-2018 Made at Hugo House Fellowship, she has been working on a poetry manuscript that explores sleep paralysis, paranormal emissions, and the experience of trauma in a cloistered realm of feminine domesticity.


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