Emily Koehn

Miniature Horses

I have many miniature horses on a windowsill. But I miss you in the basement. I filmed many horror things when young. I filmed many tongues and hair and disguises for a few pen pals. My pen pal lived in Australia, and I memorized her attitude in order to use it. I wasn’t the one to run after him with a baseball bat from the snow cone shop. I drove my black Celica into the night. I was in the passenger seat getting calm with chamomile. I memorized the window screen and the mosquitoes in the wipers. I felt like I was in the wiper. I filmed many nights in the woods with the fire and whiskey and teenagers. I slipped out of windows as a teenager. I filmed many horror things. I dipped my toes into ice ponds and got rid of my clothes. I hung out with the boys and their socked up penises. I held his hand. I dropped his hand. I cut his hand. I burned a cigarette on his hand. When does the violence begin so early. And when does the basement dry out. Get the water out of it. I have many miniature horses.

Emily Koehn’s poems are forthcoming or have recently appeared in Fence, Crazyhorse, Cincinnati Review, Vinyl, Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri, where she works as a site coordinator for Poetry Inside Out, a poetry and translation program in the public schools.
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