The Blossoms Are Out
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
We can walk through acres of fallen
leaves. We can examine the holes
punched through the bark. We can ask
the wind whether there is any recourse.
We can loosen our hair, let it hang
in front of our faces. We can drink
until our pores gush forth. We can beg
the ground for answers. We can petition
the sky for solace. We can seed the clouds
and await the rain that was once inevitable.
We can place the books on the woodpile
before we help ourselves to a plate of bread.
We can turn away. We can turn away.
We can turn away.
Back to Top of Page | Back to Poetry | Back to Volume 18, Issue 1 – Summer 2024
About the Author
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry on unceded Mingo land (Akron, OH). He published his first poem in a non-vanity/non-school publication in November 1988, and it’s been all downhill since. Recent/upcoming appearances in Daikaijuzine, Siren’s Call, and Big Windows Review, among others.