Emily Paige Wilson
I’ll Build Us a Home (i)
of banded amethyst, basil, and bird
cages. You’ll sleep beneath the sink,
where we’ll keep soap and baby teeth.
We’ll worship the purple morning
glories and pretend we planted them
outside the window on purpose. We’ll
learn to read left handed. The trees
will apologize for never coming in,
blame it on their roots. We’ll understand.
Our health will be consistent, no
sickness save the ache when August
scatters the cardinals. We’ll spend
so much time together, we’ll grow to only
speak of silver: the moon, the moths,
the bathwater we’ll both forget to drain.
I’ll Build Us a Home (ii)
of lilac, wings, and washing machines.
You’ll wallpaper the bathroom
in prints of teacups and train whistles,
pinks that won’t crease from shaving
cream and steam. Our pet jellyfish will
swim in jars of lactic acid, sweat we’ll
collect from daily jogs. We’ll never name
our floating family because sounds don’t
adhere to wet bodies. You’ll teach me
time is not sand but mud beneath
our feet, cool and thick. We’ll smooth
salve over our scars and say, “Shhh,
This will keep the storms out.” Though
you’ll confuse the turnips and beets,
our pantry will always seem plenty.
I’ll Build Us a Home (iii)
of pollen, plaster, and copper wind
chimes. Your brothers will bring us
linen pajamas with each visit. We won’t
know how to say, Please, the closets
are full. You’ll carve spoons from
selenite; we’ll re-center our souls
with each bowl of cereal. You’ll teach
me about constellations by spilling
curry on our dark kitchen counters,
swirling shapes in the spices. I’ll still
love you, even after you drop my
favorite perfume—the scent of fresh
peonies and pepper—sharp glass scattered
—but I’ll ask you to keep your hands
unwashed for as long as you can bear.
Emily Paige Wilson is an MFA candidate and graduate teaching assistant at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Adroit Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, PANK, and The Raleigh Review, among others. Her work has been awarded the Emma Howell Memorial Poetry Prize, a Kert Green and a Brauer Fellowship, and has placed in competitions held by North Carolina State University and The Indiana Review. She rules her life like a fine skylark and is working on her crow pose.
Return to July 2016 Edition
of banded amethyst, basil, and bird
cages. You’ll sleep beneath the sink,
where we’ll keep soap and baby teeth.
We’ll worship the purple morning
glories and pretend we planted them
outside the window on purpose. We’ll
learn to read left handed. The trees
will apologize for never coming in,
blame it on their roots. We’ll understand.
Our health will be consistent, no
sickness save the ache when August
scatters the cardinals. We’ll spend
so much time together, we’ll grow to only
speak of silver: the moon, the moths,
the bathwater we’ll both forget to drain.
I’ll Build Us a Home (ii)
of lilac, wings, and washing machines.
You’ll wallpaper the bathroom
in prints of teacups and train whistles,
pinks that won’t crease from shaving
cream and steam. Our pet jellyfish will
swim in jars of lactic acid, sweat we’ll
collect from daily jogs. We’ll never name
our floating family because sounds don’t
adhere to wet bodies. You’ll teach me
time is not sand but mud beneath
our feet, cool and thick. We’ll smooth
salve over our scars and say, “Shhh,
This will keep the storms out.” Though
you’ll confuse the turnips and beets,
our pantry will always seem plenty.
I’ll Build Us a Home (iii)
of pollen, plaster, and copper wind
chimes. Your brothers will bring us
linen pajamas with each visit. We won’t
know how to say, Please, the closets
are full. You’ll carve spoons from
selenite; we’ll re-center our souls
with each bowl of cereal. You’ll teach
me about constellations by spilling
curry on our dark kitchen counters,
swirling shapes in the spices. I’ll still
love you, even after you drop my
favorite perfume—the scent of fresh
peonies and pepper—sharp glass scattered
—but I’ll ask you to keep your hands
unwashed for as long as you can bear.
Emily Paige Wilson is an MFA candidate and graduate teaching assistant at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Adroit Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, PANK, and The Raleigh Review, among others. Her work has been awarded the Emma Howell Memorial Poetry Prize, a Kert Green and a Brauer Fellowship, and has placed in competitions held by North Carolina State University and The Indiana Review. She rules her life like a fine skylark and is working on her crow pose.
Return to July 2016 Edition