Two Poems by Josh Feit

"Hecate, My Fixer" and "Her Debut as a Public Singer"

Photo by Alex Rose

Hecate, My Fixer

I’m visiting, like Persephone to spring   
(the season of garland-wrapped alleys), 
this city of transit timetables.   
My fixer meets me at the station next to the recital hall, 

where she must have snuck in earlier
unnoticed during the quartet’s end-of-the-century valses chantées. 

It wasn’t until afterward
that I felt her mulling presence 
in the form of a delusion: I live in this city,

this Tuesday, this murmuring platform, everyone 
clutching programs for 
a night of music or the mourner’s Kaddish.  

I’m back for Dad’s funeral. 

In the hours before the memorial, 
diminished to confusion, Mom thought I was him. 
I explain I do not live here with her, 
that he is dead; I collect my shoes 
from where she had placed them
by his side of the bed. 

Maybe she’s not wrong:
Maybe I do 
live here?  

The train pulls in and Hecate takes my hand.  

We cross worlds to Brooklyn, where Dad was born,
cheap wine our torches. Sing until 2 am, 
like Persephone to radial spring. 


This poem won 2nd place in Common Ground Review's 2024 poetry contest.

Her Debut as a Public Singer

Choosing to live in the city is not a retreat from the natural world. 
In her shared housing, where she sees apparitions of Wordsworth’s vagrants,
music is a conjunction of dark and translucent oceans.  

Composer! Mark every score with words that mean anemia. 
Fagin! A toast. Down with it, Innocence! Here’s to symphonies 
in lieu of nature poetry. Here’s to choosing   

the role of blanched diva because when > by request > she sang > 
at the kitchen table > we held our breath. Music is a conjunction of 
riding the train to the capital, while also being in the capital.

After her debut, she discovered red marker > bled through her > bodice > onto her body >  
written backward in the mirror. Loneliness makes a tolerable DJ of the 21st century. 
Mark every score with words that mean anemia. 

On this stricken evening, try not to confuse democracy with 
anxiety. It’s either believe in The Beggar’s Opera or wither in
reminiscence. Choosing to live in the city is not a retreat from the natural world,
it’s realizing your apartment is an aria.  

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Josh Feit has written two poetry collections: Shops Close Too Early (Cathexis NW Press, 2022) and The Night of Electric Bikes (Finishing Line Press, 2023). In 2023, Feit was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Bainbridge Island Press and was profiled in Poetry Northwest magazine. His poems have appeared in many literary journals, including: Spillway, Vallum, Change Seven, Novus Literary Arts Journal, and Circle Show. He won 2nd Place for the 2024 Common Ground Review Poetry Prize, was a finalist for the 2024 and 2021 Wolfson Chapbook Poetry Prize, won 3rd Place for the 2019 Lily Poetry Prize, and was shortlisted for Vallum’s 2020 Poetry Award, winning Honorable Mention.

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Interview with the author:

Jen Knox (JK): Hi Josh, Thank you for taking some time to tell us a little about your journey and process as a writer. What or who inspires you? 

Josh Feit (JF): I love how you’ll just be going about your day and your brain leaps to some memory or idea that’s connected to the moment. It can be something kind of logical like on your walk home from work, you cut through the park and start thinking about airport runways. Or it might be something curious like you’re reaching for your glasses and suddenly you’re thinking about the time you nearly drowned. 

I try to seize on these moments, as mundane or discursive as the thought may be, and interrogate them to see if there’s a story behind the connection.   

As to who inspires me. I’d say it always seems to come back to Pirate Jenny from the Threepenny Opera!   

JK: Love it. What is the best advice you ever received?

JF: This isn’t so much advice as it was criticism, but an editor once said my poetry “glanced away from emotion.” I thought I had been putting my deepest, private thoughts on the page, but apparently not. Ever since then—and I think this has made my poetry more meaningful for readers—I’ve been leaning into the personal side of narratives. 

JK: Do you write to prompts? If so, what's your favorite? If not, why not?

JF: I like the challenge of a school-assignment kind of prompt, like: write a sonnet or villanelle, or, for a real brain twister, a sestina. I also like just ripping off a favorite free-verse poem and using the way it is structured as a default form. 

But the most productive prompts for me are the ones that happen more spur-of-the-moment, such as when I’m reading a news article and there’s a bit of incongruously poetic language that hints at a whole other world. For instance, I was reading an article about the post-pandemic, city center real estate crash, and a market analyst was quoted saying this: “We’re approaching the acceptance stage of the grieving process for office properties.” The idea of grieving for buildings struck me as a window into the human condition. 

Thanks for taking the time with us, Josh, and for allowing us to feature your words.