Emily Jahn

Half buried under foot
that misty evening,

in flickering
white eyes –
the night’s

slow blink. They
are the color
of my father’s

hair, their bark
feels like the skin
under his eyes, all

the delicate
beauty in the cross
hatch beneath

the clarity I run
my thumbs over.
I wish they

could pull me up
with their dark
grooves to where

the moon sits
iris-like, their leaves
would be like

soft hands in a silver
sun where everyone
only holds

their breath, up to
their knees in
empty rooms.


Emily Jahn is a biology and poetry double major who enjoys canoeing and being outside.