to the house, made
the black night slick,
she did as dogs do
and found a fat round
pillow, traced circles,
then settled in to pay
attention: ears soft
triangles, eyes hushed
water-blue, still as creek
stones—as if there were
nothing of more urgency
than dark drops making
maps on the pane—as if
the greatest insistence
was the symphony
just before her—rumbling,
electric, wild—as if metaphors
never mattered, and there
could be no string of words
more pressing than a storm
singing over wet lilacs, no other
answer beyond the full quiet
of your own soft being.
Author Bio:
Emily Patterson is a writer and editor in Columbus, Ohio. She studied English and Music at Ohio Wesleyan University, where she was awarded the F.L. Hunt Prize for most promising creative writer and the Marie Drennan Prize for Poetry. Emily's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Spry Literary Journal, catheXis Northwest Press, Pinkley Press, Eunoia Review, and Harness Magazine Issue III: Poetry and Motherhood. Emily is currently pursuing an MA in Children's Literature at The Ohio State University.