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Dillon Haws “Pentad”

Dillon Haws

My name is Dillon Haws and I am from Middleton, Idaho. I am an English major with a focus on rhetoric and composition. I chose this major because I thought it would be a good pre-law major. After graduating this May I will enter law school and hope to work in the field of health law after receiving my J.D. When I’m not studying I enjoy spending time outdoors running, hiking, fly fishing.

Note about “Pentad”:

The text below gives an approximation of Dillon’s poem to make it accessible for visually impaired users. To see the poem as Dillon intended it to be seen, view Pentad by Dillon Haws



And so the leaves released us        gave our week to a willow reflected above our heads this was hollow, halcyon, intersectionality as the wholly other; our bodies    untethered                 we are made of sunken paths, of their traffic and new sound           Aquinnah, where there were no lights, just pale heirlooms                 to eulogize the end of summer


She pretends to be a Brooke Trout         finds rest in the mane of a stone that divides here from not here counts my toes        comes up for air       quenches her body’s thirst for silica and selenium; calls the eddy safely sulfuric                  forms a fossa for her feet with her foot wrapped in consent, but waits until she’s mired to ask for help               goes down for remedy         if our parents had this, she says, pointing to her heart, we wouldn’t exist


Fears the antidote is in the hops          in the airstream powdered doughnut             flurry; thinks Christmas, thinks lights:      blue       changes mind     reneaux: red      as in ruby, mom’s car, sangria, first period on the beach         green           shamrock or parakeet, sea foam sneaks in settles on hackneyed, Christmas green as a model        yellow?         only when the sun is shining, only dad’s Mag light, only if one is lost        margarine filling the windows of the trailer at night


Calls pine cones birds that couldn’t fly, finds her reflection in scales        asks what would happen if birds were called melons, like dad loved her         not in the form of melons, but the spirit of summer




Found  the  sleeping  bag  a  womb  of  practicum:  instruction  in  21  probable human  facial         expressions hands me an invisible Polaroid camera, says shoot me      “give me shame;” hides her breasts           I kiss my teeth for effect, buzz a picture for effect           she snatches it from hands cupping certainty          whips it through the air          for effect         ponders doubles, amalgamation; asks what if it’s like alloy? Shows me happily disgusted then sadly disgusted tries to solve 21 times 21, puts the equation in a pained jar       sets it on the moon for someday


Reaches for the night with a needle and makes stars           asks how far the sky is from perjury the sutra she begged for came in suspended breath