Jessica
by Emily Jern-Miller

She could have been examining a bit of lint on her thigh or noticing a bright penny. Her head shoulder-slumped like that. Angora nuzzled cheek. This becomes head at left angle below unbuckled seatbelt in a spineless book. Everything dressed in plastic. Even the disturbed team of finches leave tiny footprints in ink. At home our nails grow so we pick them. Arrive at the funeral bearing bouquets of scrap petal, wearing hyphens above our eyes. We dissect the grocery list left on the counter to reveal brown bananas. Discover her S loops lean to the right in the extensive autograph autopsy. We stay up late with binoculars, trying to loosen moon's coded cursive scrolling through leaves. Remember when you used to climb through the branches.

Emily Jern-Miller is currently pursuing her MFA at CaliforniaCollege of the Arts in San Francisco. She holds a BA from the Evergreen State College, and attended a summer workshop at the IowaWriters' Workshop. Her work appears in elimae and is forthcoming inDecember from Arsenic Lobster.

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