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  • Beatrice Iker

Poem #5: More Sycamores

Thin, dry branches



Peaches, born in Coweta

linger inside the wind

You, tell me to breathe

And when I exhale

the fairies only I can see


Their glee brightens the darkness

of Tennessee

with fruit living in the breeze

The chill of the sun


The oaks

The pines



but, bless sycamores

For holding me up


The grass bends

beneath me

The pollen screams

to be heard, and felt


like all of us do, at some point

You tell me to sing

doesn’t matter how it sounds

only that it exists

only that I remember

I exist

Warmth, foxes, glass exists

for something other than to be broken

When I close my eyes

the shattered branches

dig into my skin

More reminders,

More lessons,

More sycamores

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