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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.