"Annie Beth's Münster" by Nuala McEvoy
Han VanderHart | Two poems
Artist's Statement in a Mountain Cabin
I think you should use the language
of where you come from
I grew up shopping in Walmart’s
faded glory
my mother rescued bread
designated for pigs
our milk was unpasteurized
the cream rose to the top overnight
my mother once had me grate a grape nut loaf
through a screen for breakfast cereal
and I admit that and plucking
chickens was when I thought: I quit
I was raised low fidelity
knew zero pop culture
the music my parents played
was from their past
peter paul & mary, America:
a horse with no name
the worst thing that happened
to me as a child:
I didn’t know
love without anxiety, or that anger
wasn’t the truest emotion
watching the sumac grow green
and flame up, over and over again
discovering mid-century books
and wading into them like a lake
of where you come from
I grew up shopping in Walmart’s
faded glory
my mother rescued bread
designated for pigs
our milk was unpasteurized
the cream rose to the top overnight
my mother once had me grate a grape nut loaf
through a screen for breakfast cereal
and I admit that and plucking
chickens was when I thought: I quit
I was raised low fidelity
knew zero pop culture
the music my parents played
was from their past
peter paul & mary, America:
a horse with no name
the worst thing that happened
to me as a child:
I didn’t know
love without anxiety, or that anger
wasn’t the truest emotion
watching the sumac grow green
and flame up, over and over again
discovering mid-century books
and wading into them like a lake
Broken
The wooden spoon.
The light in November trees.
The garden stakes.
The eggshells.
The dog’s hip.
Some things you fix
and they break again
and again:
tear in the screen door,
blown fuse in the kitchen,
fence the dogs dug under,
that the fox
and the snake
and the rats
slid under.
What does this manifest say?
That we had something
of value.
That all the animals
wanted in.
The light in November trees.
The garden stakes.
The eggshells.
The dog’s hip.
Some things you fix
and they break again
and again:
tear in the screen door,
blown fuse in the kitchen,
fence the dogs dug under,
that the fox
and the snake
and the rats
slid under.
What does this manifest say?
That we had something
of value.
That all the animals
wanted in.
Han VanderHart is a queer writer living in Durham, North Carolina. Their manuscript Larks (Ohio University Press, 2025) won the 2024 Hollis Summers Poetry Prize, judged by Chanda Feldman. Han is also the author of the poetry collection What Pecan Light (Bull City Press, 2021). They have poetry and essays published in Kenyon Review, The American Poetry Review, The Rumpus, AGNI, and elsewhere. Han hosts Of Poetry Podcast and co-edits the poetry press River River Books.
Nuala McEvoy is an English/Irish artist and writer currently living between Germany and Spain. Nuala paints places she has visited using her memory and her imagination. Nuala has had two exhibitions in Münster, Germany, and is currently preparing an exhibition in London.
nualamcevoy | Instagram | Linktree
x @mcevoy_nuala
nualamcevoy | Instagram | Linktree
x @mcevoy_nuala
