by Emily Stanfill
It's almost too much— The hue of bug guilt. Every splat adds a soul's Rorschach on the glass. Since Nebraska we've picked up enough for modern art— a Pollack in green and grey— "Rocky Mountain Souvenirs no 3." I wonder if my soul will one day splatter on God's golden pane— a slimy record of the inside stuff— a collision with heavenly things.
Emily Stanfill rocks the literary world with her unique and timely poetry. Currently a graduate student at BYU, she will travel exorbitant distances for a good cannoli.
