By Emily Allen
Go where the soil consumes
your every step, and every night
the river shuffles through the shallows
like a sleepwalker. It is all current,
all whispering promise.
When the oak spreads wide its limbs,
climb into the heart of it
and wait for the wind to speak.
It will tell you where to find me.
There are always landmarks.
In this ocean of prairie grass,
I am the ebb and flow of golden
stalks. I am the well water’s echo.
Sit and let the river rushes brush
your cheek. Let me say I miss you.
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Emily Allen is a doctoral candidate in poetry at the University of North Texas. Her work has recently appeared in Prism, Foothill Graduate Poetry Journal, and the Southern Poetry Anthology.