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  • Writer's pictureLammergeier Staff

Wind Breathing in Reverse | Miranda Sun

I found you again last night.

Stumbled over you like a body

in the woods, your eyes no longer windowed

and your limbs anything

out of a menagerie: shot dog, beached seal,

bat growing flightless, membranes

made moss. Made missing. But your jaw

still in the shape of something human.

Here, you softened like you never did

in my memories. Here, the only danger

was the light through trees, silver blade buried

between ribs. I wanted to plant an acorn

six feet below your spine, to separate

vertebrae. Crack sternum

like chestnut. Like I hadn’t done enough.

Miranda Sun is nineteen years old. An alumna of the NYS Summer Young Writers Institute and the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop, her work has been nationally recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and the Writers Alliance of Gainesville, as well as published in TRACK//FOUR, The Claremont Review, Sobotka, Body Without Organs, YARN, and more. She loves aquariums and bubble tea.

Twitter: @heregoesthesun

Facebook: Miranda Sun



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