Annaka Saari is a writer from Michigan. She earned her MFA from Boston University, where she now works as the administrator for the Creative Writing Program. She also serves as managing editor for Solstice: A Magazine of Diverse Voices and a poetry reader for The Los Angeles Review. The recipient of a Florence Engel Randall Graduate Fiction Prize and a Scotti Merrill Poetry Award, her work has been named a finalist for the Prufer Poetry Prize, longlisted for the DISQUIET Literary Prize, and appeared in or is forthcoming in The Southern Review, Pleiades, Image, Cleveland Review of Books, The Maine Review, Plume, and other publications.



November 20, 2024

Annaka Saari

That summer



was the year she bought the aloe plant, the year she broke its leaves in her hands and smoothed salps of gel into the pink of my skin. The callouses on her fingers — roughness of keeping horses — sent sprigs of light under the damp weight of my bikini, imagined finger trails snaking across my goosebumped breasts. Inside her mother’s house, she’d slip out of her suit and into dry clothes, the time-spent lace of her bra twisting with wet hair to make a mess of her back. I’d smooth the knots, separate the strands and straps, use my hands until the tension ran slack.



Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published weekly by Glass Poetry Press.
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