by Sami Helgeson

Have you ever tasted the silt that sits between gravel?

That is my homecoming, the grit between my teeth an embrace.

In my too small hands lilacs learn how to be beautiful.

The butter painted on the most delicate part means we are in love.

Running on all fours never spoke to me, the fantasy of it.

Instead we would spin in circles and sometimes do what you wanted.

The memories play through the car window, past corn and soy.

Two cows jumped over the fence again and the grass was untouched.

They were us learning to escape early, catching barbed wire on skin.

Sami Helgeson is a poet, who grew up in the Driftless Region of Wisconsin and currently resides in the high desert of Denver, Colorado. Sami’s work has been published recently with the Peauxdunque Review, Twenty Bellows, Coffee People, and Spit.