In Habit
By Brooke Bovee
They’ve erected a huge yellow crane where the Winn-Dixie used to be where nothing once was everything the Big Hunting Grounds frogs and swamps fraud and scoundrels developed When I was twelve I developed a habit of going into the woods down to the Looking Glass River Wabenasebee I’d sit on the tree roots that hung like a mantle over the brown water and wait for proof that something was amiss, that I didn’t belong, but that little river would only mirror me back to myself exactly as I was: clay-born, wild
Brooke Bovee grew up in Michigan with her parents and sister and a big family of friends. She pursued higher education in Colorado, California, Michigan, and Florida. She now lives in Miami, where she teaches composition and literature at Miami Dade College, enjoys a childfree adulthood with her partner Matthew, and does not miss winter.
Applications for the SWWIM + The Betsy residency will be open 6/1-8/1. Apply on Submittable!
Are you a SWWIMmer with literary news to share (publication/feature/award/book/book review)? We’d love to shout out your accomplishments in our Weekly Spotlight! Please email swwimmiami@gmail.com with a link to your news. (No DMs on any social media platforms, please.)
Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter/X, and Bluesky for more updates—and visit our website to see past, present, and future readings & events.
**We do our best to preserve the integrity of each poem; however, due to programming limitations, some poems may read differently on a mobile phone and in certain browsers. For best viewing, use Chrome on a desktop/laptop.
Gorgeous. Thank you.