The Cold Coast (excerpt)



Hours ago, rain slugged the gutter.
Now fog babbles onto your staircase.
I could float in all this water,
but instead feel like a hijacked train
lost somewhere on its steel trail.
I feed coal into the engine and depart.



I’ve been gnawing
at my bones,
saying goodbye
to the cold coast
of myself.
But if the world instead
is the lake,
then I’m the beggar
wandering the dunes.
Either way, hunger
hunts me like a shark.


Dane Hamann is an editor for a textbook publisher in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University, where he also serves as the poetry editor for TriQuarterly.