For This Poem
It is a shock to spot a corpse
in the spot where before only the
underbelly of leaves pressed.
Now, the surface supports
jutting, unnatural limbs,
and hair pushed and pulled
I put my hand to my heart,
made a little gasp,
so the division between those who
stayed back would not be so marked
by a lack of sympathy.
I told myself that I approached
for the sake of this poem,
so this poem could breathe.
I didn’t expect the blood
that had coalesced in the dip below its
Emma Stein lives in New Jersey. Her poetry has appeared in Chantarelle's Notebook, Leaf Garden, Thirteen Myna Birds, Illogical Muse, and others.