After winter, we would walk on the spongy fields
of our childhood in snow boots, water coming up murky
around blue soles. You’d pull a jackknife from your
shirt pocket and shave the bark, shallow then deep,
revealing a chartreuse layer against strident grays.
The tart pepper of life scent would rise to my nose.
You’d say, We’re at that stage where we can handle
a damp green wound, remember, leaves will furl open
in spring (and I should know this by now). As you spoke,
I’d take a willowy branch and wring it in opposing circles
until the shiny skin peeled up, pulp fracturing outward
like a paper lantern, sap coruscating brightly within.
This is how we would have prepared to always be holding
on a bit longer, awaiting the life that has yet to come forth.
Cassandra self-publishes an art and literary zine called, “Rag” and coordinates a monthly literary reading series at The Beat Museum in San Francisco. Her poems have been published in The New Delta Review, Rip Rap, Hawaii Review, The Lifted Brow and elsewhere. She has a poem forthcoming with Reed Magazine. She holds a BA from California Institute of Integral Studies and MFA from California College of the Arts.
IG: @cassandrarockwoodriceganem
Facebook: Cassandra Rockwood Rice Ganem
Photo by David M Strom on Foter.com / CC BY-NC