Milligrams by Sara Hovda
Poetry editor Abby LaForest on today’s poem: Sara Hovda’s “Milligrams” tiptoes on the delicate balance between true living and essentials for survival. It treads carefully through the necessary medications and the joyful harvests we dream of reaping, so long as the world is kind enough to lift its heavy hand. Hovda’s steady, poetic cadence shoulders the burden of sacrifice in a world that demands it, doing so in a voice both practical and vulnerable. Her words transcend our fields of silence in whispers of maybes, daring us to imagine a better year as we stand amongst the soybeans and dirt.
Milligrams by Sara Hovda
This is how the world lives—
spironolactone: white circle, taste of mint.
A field of silence,
the Roundup sprayed,
all that’s left crisp dirt.
This is how the world lives—
estradiol: blue oval, taste of chalk.
No flowers, but soybeans, food
to harvest. If allowed
beauty for its own sake, I’d wear
carnations, but now’s the time
for economy. Maybe next year
I’ll wear more makeup, plant
the sunflowers, split the difference
between pretty and savings.
Maybe next year I’ll still be alive.
Sara Hovda is a transgender woman from rural Minnesota. She currently attends the MFA program at UC-Riverside while also working as an online entertainer. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in magazines such as Frontier Poetry, Nimrod, and Nashville Review, among others.
