by | Issue #5, Poetry

Seagulls prefer to nest by open water, but they’ll make do
if they must. This bathroom, sinking into the foundation as
little green plants force their way through the grout, will do.
It will do, even once we’ve outgrown & left it, the shivering husks
of our shadows peeled away and left to drown in Grandma’s claw
foot tub. The sunlight glancing off the bay calls the birds to heel
into port, like a sidelong ship. The waxy leaves of the lemon tree
we planted, first stinging in the back of the throat, then spreading
root under the window, showering chintz tile with dappled light.
Nestled in the leaves, yellow beads swell and fall one
by one, with no one left to hear them.

Ella Rous is a second-year student currently attending the University of Texas at Austin as a Plan II and psychology double major. Though her work has appeared in Emerge Literary Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Sledgehammer, she is best known for her zebra patterned platform crocs and her collection of unconventional flower vases. Her twitter handle is @creatingella.