BYU Studies, poetry, missionary
Rain hangs in the air. Even my underwear feels wet.
I listen to the tapping fingertips of the bodies of bugs hitting netting at night. Gray water. Bare floors.
"What Her Missionary Son’s Letter Didn’t Say,"
BYU Studies Quarterly: Vol. 60:
2, Article 8.
Available at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/byusq/vol60/iss2/8