poetry – honey gaze

Point of Impact

When you left this world, I was
driving back roads that coiled
through pine-shadow & crooked/fenceline

Rooted

In a backyard that looks like Eden moved south/to let itself grow over, my grandmother perches/in a white plastic lawn chair.

Point of Impact

Before I knew you’d died, I was driving/backwoods dirt roads, just/outside the small town we used to share

Communion

At four, I knelt in the garden
beside my grandmother, hands full
of seed, as she covered them one
by one with dark, loamy soil. This
is how I learned devotion.

Scavenger

My dog sees it first,/her sleek silhouette/stiff & still &/bristled at the scent.

Mycelium

I am not a tree, ascending/
to reach the heavens./Although I’m not quite grounded

Ancestry

I walk a thin and unkept road of rocks,/of dirt & roots, of things forgotten—lost/& found.