by Dawn Macdonald

A child’s parents know the Pope; they have an in
with Michelangelo. She swings between
the registers. She has the voice of a chandelier
in a box beneath the bed. A child’s parents know

what’s best. They’ve been to Rome. They’re readers.
A child’s voice has pitches. Her shoes
best serve to elevate. Her stature varies
with the gaze. She’s best beheld in a departure

lounge. Her shoes are loose. Her voice
glissandos unintentionally. Her gaze is fixed
upon a box. Her parents stare into
the backs of banks of chairs.

Dawn Macdonald lives in Whitehorse, Yukon where she grew up without electricity or running water. She won the 2025 Canadian First Book Prize for her poetry collection Northerny (University of Alberta Press). She goes by @yukondawnmacdonald on Instagram and @yukondawn on Bluesky.