Three Poems

 

by Emily Jern-Miller

 

 

 

 

which of these backgrounds would you
    name

 

 

Inside we mean intricate running thought.

 

It’s commonly called the practice of canyons.

 

Oxygen, heaps creased

at night, is no less

 

a kind canopy.  A creature

living between moody

 

and maple.  Myself I call numbers

or bring about.  We say “more”

 

because it is easier than “distance”

and “strong” for its closeness

 

to “parchment.”  A wing we know

the most desirable surface.

 

 

 

 

 

 

careful ache comes with witnessed flock

 

 

Handsome remnant of salt

 

Sconce is clearer than stretcher I

see four legs when I think safe

 

A death does not fit into herd

constellation shore

 

blurry The past filled

or unfilled Once coated

 

in hurt and sail Come look

 

sand formations troubling

sorrow

 

 

 

 

 

 

ladders on roofs and other northern    souvenirs

 

 

Amplified maze of weights

forms inner noise pacing

under the topsoil; an arrangement

 

tightens in what the eye grasps.

The liquid constantly breaking

inside my hand is learning

 

how to gesture the quiver

of an ear bone against old coins.

I say “vulnerability,”

 

and you think “amphibian.”

Some wintery recollection.

Our gaze held too responsible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Jern-Miller is a recent MFA graduate from Petaluma, California.  She thinks at images for sarah.