What I Remember from Missouri

BY RYN JO

I was born in floodwater,
a flash-lit, pillow-padded coat

closet. Born fearing green
sky, the red corn combine

revolving,
teeth. Born spitting

shot back onto
a paper plate.           Mother

taught me to dowse.
Watched from the wood porch,

raw-heeled girl
running with a forked branch

down a path
of wild violets.

When I came shrieking
from the hornets, mother

blew smoke and said God.
All your youth, white sage rising
from a cereal bowl.


Ryn Jo earned her BA in English from Salisbury University. Her poetry has appeared in Rust + Moth, Cooper Street Journal, Cactus Heart Press, Cheat River Review, and Permafrost Magazine, among others. Currently, she lives in Tampa, and serves as co-founder of the online literary magazine, Milk Journal.

Image Credit: “Connected,” John Peterson

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