Summer, Iowa
by Emily Jern-Miller
Corn kernels know their place. Touching the spine of a yawn as the wind uncurls. Silk stubble. Heels tucked to core. Down at the quarry our pollen-dusted chins. Sky fuming red like a quarrel. A fast car idles on soft toes a hundred feet beneath us. You came here as a boy scouting before cutting, tattoos, hitching away. We're breaking water, a law. Those rows and rows of thumbs.
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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