Sofia Eun-Young Guerra

In the morning

Someone traversed these bridges long before I opened my eyes—

            rain collecting in the pockets of her seamless robe. She would have called me

            little sister

She was born asleep

Enveloped by yellow earth, she

            pets dogs chained in their yards. They lower their ears and follow her

            with their eyes when she stands up to leave, gliding

Where will she meet me? At the intersection: of mother tongues and

                                                                         shoes with soles worn through

Sofia Eun-Young Guerra is a writer and incoming undergraduate student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology from Tacoma, Washington. Her work has previously appeared in JMWW and Neologism Poetry Journal. Outside of writing, she spends her time pursuing other art forms, such as music and origami, and research.