It is between mosquito generations,
so we stand on the porch
and stargaze, like I always imagine
I do here on Fire Island but rarely can.
We point to Jupiter and Saturn
over the low canopy of holly and beach plum.
Mars is beneath our feet, on the dayside.
I miss the sweet malt of beer, how it brought everyone,
even the planets, closer. But was that real?
Without a drink, I’m afraid. I don’t want
to be boring. I tilt my head
and let the stars run down my throat.
If I look long enough I can convince myself
that I don’t really exist. That the universe
is everything and nothing, and so am I.
“THERE’S NO THROUGH TRAIL” —HAN-SHAN, TRANSLATED BY GARY SNYDER
Body on an Island
by Emily Hockaday
Issue: Spring/Summer 2021
About Emily Hockaday
Emily Hockaday is the author of five chapbooks, including the forthcoming Beach Vocabulary from Red Bird Chaps. Her poems have appeared in a number of journals, and, along with Jackie Sherbow, she coedited the anthology Terror at the Crossroads. She can be found on the web at www.emilyhockaday.com and @E_Hockaday.
Cold Mountain Review is published once a year in the Department of English at Appalachian State University. Support from Appalachian’s Office of Academic Affairs and College of Arts and Sciences enables CMR’s learning and publications program. The views and opinions expressed in CMR do not necessarily reflect those of university trustees, administration, faculty, students, or staff.