Contents

Emily

I smiled the first time you let your mind rest beside me, 
held my breath to hear the thinner whisper
of your exhale, replaying Etta James in my head. 
I stowed the unfolding moments
to retrace on Sunday evenings without worry, 
but I never forgot that all things end. 

Mass-produced baskets are hollow, lacking, 
and though my basket weaving was left
unpracticed, I assembled a cavity from reeds
sprouting so far from those who wandered
before you. I created a misshapen container with
small gaps that no pudgy fingers could push through. 

For you, I found petals that promised to bloom— 
they were gathered to be bedded in plain jars. 
I know severed stems hurt your heart, 
but let them thrive for a while, let them admire
your lungs. For neglect only appears in the absence
of beauty and function, and both
are present in your gentle breath.

About the Author

Joseph Theis is a sophomore studying psychology at Christopher Newport University. He has enjoyed writing poetry for years and hopes that others find enjoyment from reading what he creates.