Read the winning piece of our 2025 Nonfiction Contest “Through the Mirror” by Jessie Cato selected by Lucy Ives.

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Susan Hahn

Susan Hahn has published nine books of poetry, two produced plays and a novel. She was the inaugural Writer-in Residence at the Hemingway Foundation in 2013-2014. She has just completed a new fiction manuscript and her new website, www.susanhahnauthor.com, went online last week.

Fiction

Winter 2008

The Lovers

By Susan Hahn

from The Four Granddaughters of Cecil Slaughter Each time before I leave I comb Cecilia’s hair. She sits in front of the computer and surfs the Internet for life’s lighter […]

Poetry

Spring 2007

The Bells

By Susan Hahn

I All night I heard the clack of deer hooves tied to a stick and someone beating stretched skin over a hollow, and hoped the sounds would appease the gods, […]

Fiction

Summer 2005

Yom Kippur Night Dance

By Susan Hahn

I don’t know if Ethel is alive or dead. If she’s alive, she’d probably tell you that I’m killing her. If she’s dead and I knew it to be true, […]

Poetry

Spring 2003

Pity the Self— Middle-Aged

By Susan Hahn

Lying in the body is the self, lying to everyone that it’s great—bloatedinsomniac homunculus—rolling in the ruins of the layered skin and spin of fat, sneaking tidbits at night from […]

Poetry

Winter 1999

Guardian

By Susan Hahn

In a brush of fine plumes,beyond the edge of the sun,against that disk, there exists intense ribbons of flame that look like the ones you wound into the tips of […]

Poetry

Summer 1996

Pinched Nerve

By Susan Hahn

I kept reaching for the "sacred chakra" on top of my head. I'd flex my wrist, my fingers nipping a sore hair and I'd yank it out of its soft […]

Poetry

Summer 1996

False Spring

By Susan Hahn

It comes too early this late winter, before the ice storms are over, too soon I take off my heavy clothes—toss them onto the patchy grass where the Shasta Daisy-Snow […]

Poetry

Winter 1991

Susan Hahn

By Susan Hahn

In the ambulance between the quickdecisions made on the two-wayradio and the moans of the man inchesfrom the muddied floor, whose clothesthe paramedics tore off,they kept asking me who I […]