One Poem by Carson Wolfe
After Seeing a Photo of You One Year Later
An oven, the cocaine turned up the dial on your temper— ature. Your mind, a furnace. Face half sunken. The drooping eyelid. Mouth slack in one corner, tugging like your two year old on your trouser leg, watching, as you opened the door on yourself before you were done rising.
Carson Wolfe (they/them) is a Mancunian poet. They recently won the Debut Northern Writers’ Award for Poetry, and their work has appeared in Rattle, Fourteen Poems, Button Poetry, and The Penn Review. Carson lives in Manchester with their wife and three children. You can find them at www.carsonwolfe.co.uk.