Night walk home
and a fingernail moon
reminds me of when I first
clipped my own for her.
I tripped on her shoelaces,
nosedived like a poorly folded
paper plane into sunbaked leaves.
She knows she’s getting older
and I am too,
but she loves me—
an untamed species—
thriving in the twilight snow,
feeding on sediment.
I love her like time is round, ripe,
and gravity,
a choice.
Annie Dade is a poet, palliative care researcher, and end of life doula living between Oakland, California and Vermont. Her poetry is preoccupied with queerness, memory, and the ocean. Annie’s writing can be found in a 2025 edition of Beyond Queer Words, and they're working on their first chapbook.
