Charms of the Anthropocene V
A baby iguana’s radiant jade that startles you awake like the rising bellow of a motel’s alarm clock. Sheen of graphite chunked into your fingerprints’ ridges after writing sestinas. Women adorned in massive fake-eyelashes, as if batting tasseled dust-ruffles. Exoskeletons of discarded selves. Noticing how much craftier God’s hideaways have become. Goodwill’s stock of birdhouses that resemble mobile homes. Maintaining unmixed acrylics with your Monday-thru-Sunday pill-holder. Magnetic stick-ems of fridge-poetry. A dog-loving inability to suppress your girl-swoon as two, blue-eyed dane pups, paws the size of saucers, galumph down the sidewalk. How your pen’s pace is interchangeable with a quarter’s scribble on its lottery ticket.
Courtney Hitson teaches writing at Georgia College & State University. In 2026, she had poetry and fiction in LIT Magazine, Mid-Atlantic Review, Tulsa Review, San Pedro River Review, and others. Her poetry has received five Pushcart nominations. Outside of writing, Courtney studies media theory, philosophy, and visual culture.