Madeline Ehler (22 years old) is finishing her Bachelor of Arts in English at STFX University with plans to become a teacher. She lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, studying creative writing. She traveled abroad this past summer to take an intensive writing program in Europe to expand her perspective in the field, in which her poem “Northern Lights” (2023), and “The Leaves” (2024), was published in the University of Edinburgh’s literary magazine. Madeline continues to pursue her passion for writing poetry on life, love, and loss.

Seasonal

I watch my father’s skin wither 

like a left-out fruit.



(A deep-purple plum - his bulging veins) 



folding over into itself.

Shrivel and shrink –

cannibalistic act. 



I fold 

         into myself 

trying to gather

enough material to make something. 

of myself. 



To be something more 

than just a daughter. 



Now even my mother 

looks old

and I must be 

getting somewhere close. 



They were close to married at my age. 

I am close 

to nowhere. 



What age do you stop asking 

the basics like 

Do you really need to separate lights 

and darks? 



There is always more dark. 

It is January. 

I am cold. 

FROSTBITE

You left without a trace.



A number or an address.

To which I could send

some sappy poetry,



in a vain

and desperate attempt

to convince you to stay.



Stay and be happy with me

in the world we curated 

for two, 

such as us. 



I search for you 

like a trained dog 

sniffing for drugs. 

But snow looks like cocaine:



it is winter

and you are, 



everywhere. 

October (or Something Like it)

It never feels like the month

that it is and I 



never feel

the way that I should.



To lend vulnerability—

a weak link

like cracks 	veining

through soft autumn ice.



Living in memory;

loving in regret.  

Poison ourselves 

just trying to live. 



Lungs coated

with black tar piping. 



Fear is a learned response.

He speaks in hymns.



i flinch.