Christopher Emery

Moon City, 1933

A man tied himself to the world
by a pier at the end of a rope.
He dangled towards space
until his neck snapped,
whispering I’m home from heaven.

The stars and a seagull
swirled underneath his feet.
There were some among the crowd
who followed me home,

Several weeks passed.
In the back row of the cemetery,
on top of three others—as a child
watches from the pines—
the man slept with a prophecy,

I remember how no light
could open the belly of the new mother.
No light shone toward me, calling.

Author Portrait

Christopher Emery was born in Phoenix, Arizona, in October 1982. He is a PhD student in English with a Creative Writing Emphasis at Western Michigan University and a graduate of Arizona State University's MFA program in Creative Writing. You can find more of his work in Blackbird and Superstition Review.