minor chords
1November 2, 2026 by The Citron Review
by Jill Kitchen
everyone else in the tent is asleep. my shape curves to mimic theirs, but i cannot catch the dream ride. on the other side of a wire fence spanning a mountain-length of acres, there are two whole packs of wolves, howling in their minor-heart of song. as though to summon down the blinking eyes of stars, the fingernail moon, to brighten the cragged and broken peaks of the sangre de cristos. i haven’t yet met the wolves face to face. their moans of longing carve through the night with eerie histories, voices of other.
Jill Kitchen (she/her) is a poet living in Washington, D.C, though her heart can still be found in Colorado, New York, and London. Her work has been nominated for Best New Poets and Best Small Fictions and appears or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, Birdcoat Quarterly, Crab Creek Review, Four Way Review, North American Review, Poet Lore, Split Lip Magazine, and elsewhere. She is at work on her first collection.
[…] a saccharine rejection of sorts. Is it triumphant as well? In Jill Kitchen’s, “wound” and “minor chords” we experience sensory overload while wolves howl their songs. Sumaiya Aftab Ahmed’s, “A […]