top of page

"Ill-Conception"by Jacob Griffin Hall

Growing up, I never wanted to be anything. Someone walked with me, a babysitter maybe, and watched as I pocketed a handful of thorns. I never thought they’d make a memorable crown. No one died when I was ready for it. I took my sister’s hand and said we’re lucky. She watched our mother laugh and said we’re lucky. She said it’s okay to want more from the life you have. I sat in a window and folded paper bats, just like Felicia taught me. Wings flexed and ready for what? My tongue was a muscle. My heart was a muscle. My skin was a ship casting Theseus to ruin. Growing up, I wanted my friends to live forever. I wanted to walk with them unchanged through the future, below an apple tree, beyond the dissolution of time.

Jacob Griffin Hall was raised outside of Atlanta, Ga and lives in Columbia, Mo, where he works as poetry editor for the Missouri Review. His first collection of poetry, Burial Machine, won the 2021 Backlash Best Book Award and is available with Backlash Press. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in 32 Poems, New Ohio Review, Black Warrior Review, DIAGRAM, New Orleans Review, Southern Humanities Review, and elsewhere.

Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Mckendy Fils-Aimé

sipèstisyon If people say your child is beautiful, your child will become ugly. ok, i confess. once, i said fuck you to danny perkins on the last day of kindergarten after a miserable year of being pu

"Dead Things" by Beth Boylan

I feel compelled to pick up the baby bird that has died just outside my doorstep this morning. Place her in my hand and rub her toothpick ribs with my thumb. Gently kiss the milky-blue bulbs of her ey

Two poems by Daniel Edward Moore

Hey, Future is that you / in the moment / a Buddhist might love / enough to hyperventilate / or the day’s dizzy spin /of 24 hours / kicking joy / to the curbs / of chaos / blessed by Hallmark’s / squa


bottom of page