There is no oven in this room–
a good omen, he says,
ignoring one fact for another.
The open sky of his eyes reassures,
surveys emptiness and files under
opportunity.
This is not a kitchen.
Under knife-spread shadows
I uncover secret things:
crowded cupboards,
their rusted hinges
refusing silence.
Bad weather lines the shelves.
You have been cloud gathering again,
a glass hazard of swirling maelstroms.
Contained. Terrifying.
The sun stirs and you
quieten the room–
neither thunder nor
birdsong nor
heartbeat.
You hang your hat on nothing at all.
Emily Reid Green’s poetry has appeared in various publications, including: Gravel, Khroma Magazine, 1932 Quarterly, Moon Magazine, and The Ekphrastic Review. Her first chapbook Still Speak was published in 2019 by Writing Knights Press. She has also been a sponsored poet with Tiferet Journal and their annual poem-a-thon. Emily lives in Toledo, Ohio, with her family.
Eunoia Review 