by Lacie Semenovich
I climbed this mountain
to feel the breeze coarse
against my skin, the rocks bruise
softly my bones, to see
the mother sky.
Lightning spread over the path.
Mudslides passed through my fingers, fed
the barren earth retreating beneath my feet.
Willow trees hang heavy, ripe with dew unshed.
Pine sap seals knife scars in bark, works wounds round
the body, holds tightly the secrets of tree blood.
He climbed this mountain with me, doubt
stinging like a raided beehive.
Beneath an Oak we rest with the fullness of the moon.
Behind us, the path familiar.
Retreat is always an option. Until we step
off the mountain’s edge. See if we have wings.
Lacie Semenovich is the author of a chapbook, Legacies (Finishing Line Press, 2012). Her poetry has appeared in The Ghazal Page, Leveler, Muddy River Poetry Review, B O D Y, Nixes Mate Review, Misfit Magazine, and other journals.
Artist: Natasha Chomko
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