Poem of the Week | August 17, 2026

Amanda Gaines is an Appalachian writer with a PhD in creative writing from Oklahoma State University. Her work has been published in Passages North, Cleaver, Potomac Review, Barrelhouse, Fugue, december, Witness, Southern Humanities Review, American Literary Review, Willow Springs, Redivider, New Orleans Review, Southeast Review, The Southern Review, Juked, Rattle, Pleiades, SmokeLong Quarterly, and Ninth Letter. She’s currently a postdoctoral fellow and teaching assistant professor at the University of Tennessee. You can find more of her work at amandamariegaines.com.  

“In Another Life” by Amanda Gaines is our Poem of the Week.

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In Another Life

I found a fox skull on the highway and kept it in my freezer.
I found a private school to send my stretch marks.
I found a vacuum cleaner on sale and couldn’t afford it.
I found you can get around guilt with an oyster fork.
I found a letter in my mailbox addressed to a version of me I’d never met and got
embarrassed.
I found my G-spot hiding behind my ears.
I found a receipt showing I bought all this self-esteem but can’t remember where
I put it.
I found a teacup full of wine and fell in.
I found that tearing velvet from antlers isn’t all that painful.
I found God but lost Him at Sam’s Club.
I found a bottomless lake in my closet, grew gills, and was very proud of my
adaptability.
I found my knuckles tattooed with the word prodigal.
I found Atlantis and wasn’t impressed.
I found it within myself to say I hope you’re happy and mean it.
I found a dollar on the side of the road and spent the next seven years searching
for its owner.
I found a fortune teller who said she’d refer me to a psychologist.
I found a strand of yarn sticking out of my rug, and I’m still pulling.
I found a way to get with the program already.
I found the fève in a king cake, but nobody would acknowledge my sovereignty.
I found my mind at the pound and bought a shock collar.
I found revenge tastes fine regardless of its preparation.
I found the perfect ant colony to join, and no, we’re not a cult.
I found coal in a river and didn’t tell anyone.
I found a treasure map, but didn’t feel up for a challenge.
I found the right words to say to you.
I found a parasitic wasp cracking a chrysalis and didn’t make it about me.
I found a tooth beneath my pillow and didn’t ask questions.
I found time and applied for an apartment in her belly.
I found out after a lot of fucking around.
I found peace while unpeeling an orange and couldn’t believe my luck.
I found the mistletoe at a Christmas party and stayed there all night,
open-mouthed.

***

Author’s Note: 

This poem began as a kind of thought experiment—one I hoped would pull me out from a writing dry spell. Back then, I felt unmoored. Bored. I spent a lot of time thinking about revisionist histories, the allure of speculation, and the ways in which, if we are honest with ourselves, our fantasies can be pretty embarrassing or just as disappointing as our lived lives. The anaphora of I found allowed me to consider the repetitive act of being in the world with wonder rather than resignation. What possibilities open up when we allow ourselves to play or get real with the stickier aspects of our humanity? Conceding a dream self—even ones that are messy or silly—is to confess the most vulnerable of feelings: hope. This poem is an exercise in hopefulness that I, we, you, whoever, can still be surprised when tracing the worn grooves of our interior lives.