Emily Paige Wilson
New Year’s Eve on Market Street
Ezra has only begun to mouth sounds
that meet the ear as words in the past
two months. We take him down
to the river to watch the fireworks
explode into their own red and green
vowels. He’s just learned boat and moans
the o as if his small body knows what it is
to sink. Situated on my hip as the night
cries phosphorus and copper, Ezra is caught
among the colors, his pupils a wide glass
cut to hold the moment. As he waves
his hands in tiny excitement, a glove
falls to the ground. Astounded by the sharp
sting of cold air, he stares now at his fingers.
Ow, ow until the hand is once again
covered. I wonder who has taught him
to first feel unknown sensations as pain,
the probability that it was me.
Emily Paige Wilson’s poetry has been nominated for Best New Poets, Best of the Net, and two Pushcart Prizes. Her work can be found in The Adroit Journal, The Boiler Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, PANK, and Thrush, among others. She lives in Wilmington, NC, where she received her MFA from UNCW, and works as an English adjunct. She rules her life like a fine skylark and is working on her crow pose.