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I pick up a small stone, honeycombed, rust-

colored. Lighter than I expect, like driftwood

or ember. A bit of pumice in my palm.

Rocks don’t lie. What gets buried deep

eventually touches fire. And with enough heat

even the hardest stone melts then rises to surface sky.

No fixed form on this earth. We are so much more

than our genetic code. How much pressure will we endure

before we burst out of our bodies, rain

down like burning rock? The longest day brings

the dark. When the ground rumbles

I turn my shoulders to the mountains.

Open my mouth. Eat

the midday sun.

from Last DaysFind more by Tamiko Beyer at the library

Copyright © 2021 Tamiko Beyer
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Poems Tamiko Beyer

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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