Thirty-Two Degrees by Hannah Dilday

Laid to rest beneath the All-Seeing Eye,
watched your grand master tie an apron 'round
the mahogany casket, your bloated waist.

You died at the penultimate level,
but I only knew you as Dad, not a
member of some secret society.

So I buried a stranger with the face
of my father, grave decorated with
a compass set to thirty-two degrees.



Hannah Dilday is an emerging American writer currently residing in the Netherlands. She earned her BS in philosophy from The University of Oregon and has been living abroad for the past four years. Hannah's poetry has appeared in ONE ART, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Poem Stellium.