Southport

Jenna Johnson

But I tell you there is nothing
soft out there, the dog sleeping so old,
she will die soon. All her dreams consist
of swimming in tidal pools. At the center
of my universe is the sound of ripe apples
tumbling to the ground. Idareds
disturbed by wind. Behold the indolence
of seabirds. Southport 2009, summer. At the park
I strayed from my mother and came upon
a man pissing into the grass. No one knew.
I’m going to walk off now and think
about this. The lighthouse is too hot to climb
today. The heat is engulfing the dog.
I want badly for the fruit to be cold.
To walk four miles up the coast.



Jenna Johnson is a poet from North Carolina living in New York City. She is a second-year MFA student in poetry at New York University. She attended the University of North Carolina Wilmington for her BFA in creative writing. While at NYU, she worked on the Washington Square Review. Her work has been featured in Spectrum Literary Journal, Rainy Day, and SurfGirl, among others.