julia mcmullen

Julia McMullen is a poet living in Nebraska with her husband and two young children. When she isn’t writing she enjoys time with her family and an assortment of random hobbies. Her poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in Foreshadow Magazine, Solid Food Press, and Heart of Flesh Literary Journal. You can connect with Julia through her newsletter at juliamcmullen.Substack.com.

eve

I sank my teeth into a song

and the world emerged as if

from snakeskin, new and bright

and clear. There its noise burst and

dribbled down my chin, sweet and tart,

touched with sadness. Suddenly my

ears understood music more beautiful

than that of any bird in the air;

to know felt unfamiliar.

So I craved it—knowledge of You.

Before, I hadn’t noticed bumblebees

clumsily making love in the green, pollen

carrying perfume to nostrils. I craved

the air as I had never craved anything before.

But soon I began to comprehend distance,

and made use of it, seeking darkness to cover my

drunkenness from this new music, hidden from you,

and it hurt to know what pity was, but my ears

felt such rejoicing and my lungs could sing of more

than joy, cried out in their loss, and it felt good.

Read Julia’s work and more in Solum Journal Volume V: Legacy.