by Mia Herman
When you finally resurfaced
there was no fresh red,
no new wound in the sky.
Instead, I saw scabby brown,
old and oxidized from years
of wear and tear. It made me
think, maybe I can heal, too.
Mia Herman is a Jewish writer and editor living in New York. Her work has appeared in over two dozen publications including Barren Magazine, Bellevue Literary Review, F(r)iction, Ghost City Press, [PANK], Roanoke Review, Stanchion, Third Coast, and Variant Lit. Awards for her writing include an Honorable Mention in the Tom Howard/John H. Reid Fiction & Essay Contest, nomination for the Best of the Net, and finalist for the Frontier Poetry New Voices Fellowship. Mia holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Hofstra University and serves as the Nonfiction Editor for F(r)iction magazine. Follow her on Twitter @MiaMHerman.
Emerge Literary Journal 