Lakeside Chautauqua, Ohio

The first time I heard your cry
outside, I was struck by its
smallness: how it hardly 

seemed to reach the twin
Catalpas in our front yard, 
shedding their green pods; 

how it landed so softly 
on the world. Inside the house,
it filled our small rooms, filled 

my whole body with your sound;
like when I breathed in your smell, 
and it was morning sun and wheat 

fields, everywhere. That summer 
at the lake we watched the rough 
grey waters, thick haze, clustered 

gulls. It was what I craved, 
I’ll admit: to feel small beside 
you, to be held by the world

 just as I held you. 

Emily Patterson is a writer and editor in Columbus, Ohio. She holds a BA in English from Ohio Wesleyan University, where she was awarded the Marie Drennan Prize for Poetry, and an MA in Education from Ohio State University. Her work has been published in Spry Literary Journal, Better Than Starbucks, catheXis Northwest Press, The Pinkley Press, Apeiron Review, and elsewhere.