SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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Jan. 28~ CANDICE KELSEY

1/28/2026

 
Poetry fans, thanks for stopping by on this January day as we shine the spotlight on poetry by Pushcart-nominated poet, Candice Kelsey. You can read her poems:  Because We're Both Cowards, Divorce in Autumn, and To an Ex-Husband, below. Thank you, Candice, for sharing your words with SHINE international poetry series. 

Because We're Both Cowards

let’s exchange places.
I’ll sit in your car
and you’ll sit in mine.

I’ll live in your house
and work your job;
you’ll live in mine
and do what I do.

I’ll become you,
dressing and undressing.
You’ll become me,
waking and sleeping.

And when I am
alone with your wife,
I'll break the news
that I’m leaving;

you’ll do the same
some evening sitting
by my husband failing
to get his attention.

Divorce in Autumn

A spread of rain-soaked leaves,
sodden reminders
of better years,
twitch this way and that
across the raveling asphalt
like the runaway heat
rose in your cheeks
that time I said
what we both were thinking
but couldn’t sweep
into the plunging cold
of a gaslit marriage
long enough
for a solitary shape
to rake it all
into a tidy row of sturdy bags

To an Ex-Husband

I can’t forget
how you complained
about the great Dane
most nights
a bark like bowshot
the pair of you
dog and human
terrified
that each visitor
every Amazon delivery
car honk
skateboarder
was really your past
in disguise
stalking you outside
our marriage
that rickety fence
you half-heartedly hoped
would hold. ​
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Candice M. Kelsey (she/her) is a bi-coastal writer and educator. Her work has received Pushcart and Best-of-the-Net nominations, and she is the author of eight books. Her work appears in Bust, The Rumpus, Painted Bride Quarterly, Poet Lore, SWWIM, and other journals. A reader for The Los Angeles Review and The Weight Journal, she also serves as an AWP Poetry Mentor.


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    SHINE - International Poetry Series

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    Click here for submissions and more
    From the international poetry community, we have a "luxury of stars," as Sylvia Plath might say, and it is SHINE's honor to provide a home for their words with the online Spotlight series as well as SHINE Quarterly. Click on the logo above to learn more. And...keep writing, keep shining!
    In poetry,
    Samantha Terrell, EIC
    SYLVIA PLATH
    Stars Over the Dordogne

    Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
    Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
    Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
    The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
    They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible.
    Nor do they send up fires where they fall
    Or any signal of distress or anxiousness.
    They are eaten immediately by the pines.

    Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars
    Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort.
    And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.
    The smaller and more timid never arrive at all
    But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.
    They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.
    But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,
    They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets.

    The Big Dipper is my only familiar.
    I miss Orion and Cassiopeia's Chair. Maybe they are
    Hanging shyly under the studded horizon
    Like a child's too-simple mathematical problem.
    Infinite number seems to be the issue up there.
    Or else they are present, and their disguise so bright
    I am overlooking them by looking too hard.
    Perhaps it is the season that is not right.

    And what if the sky here is no different,
    And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?
    Such a luxury of stars would embarrass me.
    The few I am used to are plain and durable;
    I think they would not wish for this dressy backcloth
    Or much company, or the mildness of the south.
    They are too puritan and solitary for that--
    When one of them falls it leaves a space,

    A sense of absence in its old shining place.
    And where I lie now, back to my own dark star,
    I see those constellations in my head,
    Unwarmed by the sweet air of this peach orchard.
    There is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well.
    On this hill, with its view of lit castles, each swung bell
    Is accounting for its cow. I shut my eyes
    And drink the small night chill like news of home.

    ~~~

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