Issue 14 • 2011



Three Poems


by Emily Jern-Miller





which of these backgrounds would you



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








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