Hairbrush crosswalks parting no-one’s-mother, shoes
spilling onto the pavement like a burst vein – pulmonary. Sixty
beats a minute.
What is the pulse
insistent on the door – a taptaptapping firm from that little blue river vining around the wrist.
Electropherograms remind me
of the curl of a scarf
in a draft, the grace of a dancer’s
artful contortion.
Is mine not working
right?
Capillary branches
diffuse lazy
sunset reams into the monoxide air this yellow November, while the mist rises like the hem of a dress over countless
Evergreen ankles. I did want
to love him. Once I saw that painting – “The Nightmare,” with the woman
dreaming a demon on her chest, and I thought:
she came up with what now haunts her.
Emily Jahn is a double major in Biological Sciences and Poetry. She would like to work in conservation after graduation, and can often be found doing research in her genetics lab, painting watercolors, reading, or wandering around outside.
