—humming, the vespiary
gave me away—across the grass
into the parlor where wine-
drenched, the soppet gave me away
—where eventually I left—walked
out the gate to the marina,
by the slips—each boat or vacancy,
small waves—how I regarded the water—
proximity without entry—drift-
wood—sulfur—cistern drip—
ruptive germ—foliate—rotting
oranges—the crop frost-pricked—how as I
walked—I felt compelled to sit
under a palm and passed by it.
Emily MacWilliams is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where she was a Truman Capote Fellow and a Teaching-Writing Fellow. She lives in Iowa City.