eMerge Magazine

Poetry

Mother Tongue by Zhenya Yevtushenko
My mother tongue is my first country where white crows fly and black sheep graze on idioms, where proverbs hide like mushrooms growing in a maze of Karelian birches and pines, where needles sing the songs of my babulya’s hands her lullabies, her stitchwork freezing snows in threads, I had them framed for my mother’s American home, for our mysterious Russian soul which likes to wrap itself in floral shawls and enigmas hidden in a worn карта, которая меня находит, Я – неграмотный компас, a

Edible Stone by Erin McGrane
Three tomatoes will never be enough. One mango could never suffice. Your toothpaste heart can’t brush away the sweater you left last season, the seasoning of you still the recipe for my disaster and still my favorite dish. You, little tomato fruit, pretending to be a vegetable more at home in the savory, salty pot but still a fruit, a seed, a fleshy heart. I bite your surprisingly protective skin not nearly as thin as it looks thinking of juice ripe as blood. You, sweet, simple mango, edible s

The Golden Gate by D. L. Lang
From her steel that traveled from Pennsylvania to the people who voted to fund her construction, she stands as a testament to cooperation— what we might yet build from imagination. But the glory goes to those brave workers who dared build the impossible bridge. Day and night they labored for four years. They risked plummeting into dark waters so that generations might easier cross her silvery, glistening waves to this very day. She is the great steel handshake uniting the people of this regi

Dear Stranger by Kwanele Buthelezi
Letter to The Stranger I met in The Bus Today . Dear Stranger , I don’t know if it is okay to call you My stranger ,Or call you the girl with a pink cardigan ,who sat by the window with a pink journal on her hand and a plush sky-blue teddy bear hanging by her backpack .I noticed that today you were slightly agitated , I wondered if you still remembered me , stranger . I wondered if you remembered the red haired girl who shared a table with you on your first day in high school , but mostly I wo

Mother Tongue by Zhenya Yevtushenko
My mother tongue is my first country where white crows fly and black sheep graze on idioms, where proverbs hide like mushrooms growing in a maze of Karelian birches and pines, where needles sing the songs of my babulya’s hands her lullabies, her stitchwork freezing snows in threads, I had them framed for my mother’s American home, for our mysterious Russian soul which likes to wrap itself in floral shawls and enigmas hidden in a worn карта, которая меня находит, Я – неграмотный компас, a

Edible Stone by Erin McGrane
Three tomatoes will never be enough. One mango could never suffice. Your toothpaste heart can’t brush away the sweater you left last season, the seasoning of you still the recipe for my disaster and still my favorite dish. You, little tomato fruit, pretending to be a vegetable more at home in the savory, salty pot but still a fruit, a seed, a fleshy heart. I bite your surprisingly protective skin not nearly as thin as it looks thinking of juice ripe as blood. You, sweet, simple mango, edible s

The Golden Gate by D. L. Lang
From her steel that traveled from Pennsylvania to the people who voted to fund her construction, she stands as a testament to cooperation— what we might yet build from imagination. But the glory goes to those brave workers who dared build the impossible bridge. Day and night they labored for four years. They risked plummeting into dark waters so that generations might easier cross her silvery, glistening waves to this very day. She is the great steel handshake uniting the people of this regi

Dear Stranger by Kwanele Buthelezi
Letter to The Stranger I met in The Bus Today . Dear Stranger , I don’t know if it is okay to call you My stranger ,Or call you the girl with a pink cardigan ,who sat by the window with a pink journal on her hand and a plush sky-blue teddy bear hanging by her backpack .I noticed that today you were slightly agitated , I wondered if you still remembered me , stranger . I wondered if you remembered the red haired girl who shared a table with you on your first day in high school , but mostly I wo

A Matter of Gravity

Panic

Sarah Lawrence

Escalation

Bees

Art Preserves What Can’t be Saved

The One Who Dances at the Wind

For Melody

Still Preparing

Bouquet

The Studio

Moved

About the South

Silent Night

On the Road with Emily

Arkansas Haikus

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