by Patrick Wang

The night glass magnolias threatened infinity, we ran unfenced / through the Appalachia. Sassafras harpooned the papery air, and against the wet, old roots grew / bled themselves cold. We bled too, wrapped our arms in thorns / barbs just to know how far the wringing could go. Here, we echoed / silenced ourselves through / out the riverbanks. And amidst backwater / wash, I told you a secret, that I once stared into a flower’s maw and saw a pistil / pistol staring back. So I fled. I am fleeing / searching for a blazed field pollen- / free. A bruised dawn without the fog.

Patrick Wang is a freshman attending Washington University in St. Louis as a University Scholar in Medicine. His writing has been published in The New York Times, Chautauqua Journal, the textbook Ideas in Context (BFW Publishers), among others. In his free time, he edits for Ephimiliar Journal and watches The Great British Baking Show religiously.