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  • The Paris Review

    Two Poems by Emma Hine

    Sep 08, 2020 2 minutes

    YOUNG RELICS

    They broke into houses,my sisters. The empty ones,just built, where nobody had yettried to sleep. Little moundsof sawdust still in the corners,no floorboards loose.I imagine them being the wayI’ve seen them be with horses,hands gentle on the walls—after all,a house must learn to hold a familywith all its quivering systemsof energy and grief. I once saw Sierrawith a colt that wasn’t readyto be ridden. She stood in the stalland talked until his heart rate slowed.All through our neighborhoodnew houses were dark and panicking.Enter sisters.Bringing comfort where it wasn’tsupposed to be, no key for entry,no light allowed, just a ritual giftfor the rooms alone to remember:hands on their painted flanks.Voices in the eaves.

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