Child of Cups

hallow
by Karah Kemmerly

which do we learn first, making
or unmaking? I’ve always feared

the way lakewater obscures the sand
beneath. but still I managed to invert

& dive / allowed each snowmelt
vessel to cradle my floating limbs.

to carry something with you, first
you must open your hands. today

a moonlit path. tomorrow a grove
thick with curses. mayfly-wild

& mouth open, I’ll stumble through.
with every waxing moonphase,

I learn to absorb a little more. what
the orb has taught me: if you draw

a fish up with the water, let it
sing. let it tell you where to go.

Karah Kemmerly (she/her) is a queer writer who grew up in northern California and received her MFA from Oregon State University. Her poems can be found in THE BOILER, The Emerson Review, Roanoke Review, and Santa Ana River Review. She currently lives and teaches in Portland, Oregon.