​​H E R M E N E U T I C   C H A O S   J O U R N A L



Diana’s maple has been in the yard since the day after

​the day Casey was born. 

​Her white undershirt coated 
​with mud when she dug, 
​hands deep and fingers tangled
​in the earth. It took minutes to                                         

                                                             pour the baby
​tree into the soil, to give the roots time to entwine with

                                                               wood and bone. 

​It’s still there, tall as my shoulder. Last April, 
​a wind almost tore through its timber, cutting
​branches in two, but it didn’t. 

​I touch the trunk with my palm. I wrap 
​my hand around its core and                       
                                                                             squeeze. One fist. 

​This is mine, I think. 
This is what is 
​left when nothing remains. 

Kleine Rosemarie              

Hopscotch in December. Marbles in March. 

​Diana bought paint today, 
​to spruce up each room. She calls it Kleine Rosemarie. 
​She gives me a primer and a roller tray and too much
​blue tape but she smiles and her ears rise just a little bit
​higher and makes me wonder how I thought 
I couldn't love her. 

​The kitchen is the first to go and maybe, she says,
​the dining room, second. I don’t know what we’ll do
​with the walkways. If she’ll ask for caulk and white paint
or if we won’t say anything, leaving 
the marks on the doorframe like scars we give
​each other. Thirty-nine inches cut into the molding. 

Christine Degenaars is a senior at Boston College fulfilling a major in English. In the past, she has been published in Stylus, Boston College's oldest and largest literary magazine, Laughing Medusa, Boston College's women's literary magazine, and Plain China: Best Undergraduate Writing, an online anthology of poetry and fiction written by college students. Even after she graduates, she hopes to continue her passion for writing.