← Issue 2
by Emily Reed
I will teach you how to see jackrabbits when we cross the tracks.
There, where the yellow weeds slope to the stream,
When the sun melts over the radio towers, boxcars, forgotten fences—
Don’t hunt for a shape.
Stare at the glowing thread of light that traces the curve of the hills
Like the rim of a cup.
If you are lucky—
A flick in the grass, a zip of shadow—
The red of your fingers over a flashlight
With veins like the rivers on the California map under your seat.
Emily Reed studies English and Humanities at Sierra College in California. A Sacramento native, she finds her work greatly influenced by the landscape, people, and history of California. Her fiction has appeared in the Sierra Journal.