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