Sap drips
from the blades
of pine needles
that surround us
as we lie
on the Navajo blanket
grandmother brought
back from New Mexico
the pine
has been eaten by something
leaves a crevice
where we rest our heads
a dry sanctuary
from expected rain
I carve our initials
inside the shell
before we leave
surround them
with traditional heart
and arrow
a first moment
of love
solid as pine.
—
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Blood and Thunder, Feral, and Grand Little Things, among others.
The Zingara Project 