
Beatrice Iker
Poem #5: More Sycamores

Thin, dry branches
crunch
underfoot
Peaches, born in Coweta
linger inside the wind
You, tell me to breathe
And when I exhale
the fairies only I can see
smile
Their glee brightens the darkness
of Tennessee
with fruit living in the breeze
The chill of the sun
burns
The oaks
The pines
Maples
Cedars
but, bless sycamores
For holding me up
now
The grass bends
beneath me
The pollen screams
to be heard, and felt
acknowledged
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