The hands of the unseen world are warm. I still feel them, sometimes, on the back of my neck. As a child, the hands would soothe. Grown, I sense the hands before they touch. A quivering from neck to spine. Then nausea with the press of fingers. I used to long to blur the edges, to close the space between our skin. Now I feel the dread of the unnamed.


Sara McClayton is an educator and writer living in Baltimore, Maryland with her husband and dog. She enjoys exploring the outdoors, yoga, and reading. Her work can be seen or is upcoming in Unbroken Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal, and Club Plum Literary Journal, among others. linktr.ee@sarafmc
[…] Unnamed by Sara McClayton in the latest issue of the Coalition. There are many fantastic pieces in this issue. […]