of living within the tree. She remembers how humans lived in separate bodies. She knows she grew inside her mother, had no knowledge in the womb of what transpired: bunion on her mother’s toe, blood draw, cool drink of water. This is better—feeling the growing, the circulation. Her awareness is acute, down to the smallest bacteria in a root fungus—she knows what they’re up to, those cells within cells. She’s part of moisture entering and leaving, of sap flow and bark growth and the great work of eating the sun. One tree warns another, or that tree protects this one, and they all pull together to resist the wind storm. She swells with a feeling that, just maybe, she remembers.
is the author of two chapbooks, tesla’s daughter (March St. Press)
and Walking Back the Cat (Bright Hill Press), and a full-length collection
of poems, Light That Sounds Like Breaking (Mayapple Press).
Her work has appeared in Brilliant Corners, Harpur Palate, KYSO Flash, New Flash
Fiction Review, Rattle, Rhino, Slipstream, Smartish Pace, The Atlanta Review, The
MacGuffin, and The Notre Dame Review, among others; and has been
anthologized in several venues, including Nasty Women Poets: An Unapologetic
Anthology of Subversive Verse (Lost Horse Press, 2017), in plein air:
poems and drawings of the natural world (Poetic Licence Press), The Cento:
A Collection of Collage Poems, and The Dire Elegies: 59 Poets on Endangered