Emily Tian is a freshman at Yale University from Rockville, Maryland. She is the recipient of the Poetry Society of America's 2018 Louise Louis/Emily F. Bourne Poetry Award. Her work has previously been honored by the New York Times, the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, Princeton University, Johns Hopkins University, Gigantic Sequins, and the Claremont Review, among others.




Emily Tian

Hunting in November

Soon the phone wires will frost, a last earful of gossip wobbling in its pale slip. You wait, trusting the alarm to elbow through a crib of darkness. Then, as the engine stammers, you could almost believe you are the only man alive. I think you sit up a little straighter believing it. Each boot in the mud leaking from you like a trail of crumbs, and for what? The gold taunt of our door knob? Morning hatches the same old questions and you feed them leaves skinned red and alive. I am beginning to see that the dead will never be slung to our doorstep. The barrel of one year will always rest against the shoulder of the next. A mountain is a helmet of indifference. It shrugs at our office jobs, your polyester shirt green and bruised then gone, the grouse drumming I am, I am, I am. Dumb bird. You will twist your head to listen.




Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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