Spring 2021, Volume 30

Poetry by Thea Swanson


I know why the woman drowned
her babies. She checked her brain

at the door of a church: Please take
this. I’m ready

to be the best I can be. 

She filled her head-hole with man-
made creeds. Ragdoll stupid, she

flopped down a wringing spiral


At the dark bottom, if one had nothing better
to do, one could have sliced into

the stitching of the chest—who knew? It beat

I had a plan. No pain or blood, just
more falling. There’d be sleeping

pills, there’d be wine.  Not the trunk (too
much!) but the backseat. A blanket to lull

me gone. But the youngest. He smiled for me

I would wait. When the shoulder turned. When the soft cheek




BIO: Thea Swanson lives in the state of Washington and holds an MFA in Writing from Pacific University in Oregon. She is the Founding Editor of Club Plum Literary Journal, and her flash-fiction collection, Mars, was published by Ravenna Press in 2017. Her flash-fiction collection, There and Here, was longlisted in the Tarpaulin Sky Press 2020 Book Awards. Thea's work can be found in many journals. Find her writing at theaswanson.com.