By: Arvilla Fee

This Land

I know this land like the back of my hand
every knobby knuckle that dips and sways
like hump-backed camels on the high ridge.
I know brambly bushes thick with berries
that stain my lips and fingers peacock-blue
in the month of June—I know the field path
trodden down with hooves of doe and fawn,
the expansive lawn mowed in pristine strips
and flanked with sleek magnolias. I know
the sound of bobwhites and mourning doves
perched somewhere up above in supple
maple trees—the droning sound of honey
bees combing through swaths of furry clover.
When early light breaks the night and spreads
its yellow yolk across the eastern sky, I know
God’s hand has blessed this land,
and I am as rich as any king on earth.

Shipwreck

time has run me aground—
i sit off kilter near a sandbar
waves now licking the leeward side
planks once smooth are now crusted
with barnacles—crustaceans run amok
across my protruding ribs. I’m not surprised
having been blown off course somewhere around
perimenopause—and oh, how I curse the estrogen
that drained from my oil tank and left me here to dry.

S words

sea—sun—sand
saturated with salt
seagulls flying overhead
sailboats drifting on sequined waters
satisfied sighs of contentment escape
sundrenched lips—as waves rhythmically
suck the sand out to sea and deposit it back again

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Arvilla Fee, from Ohio, has been published in numerous presses, and her poetry books, The Human Side, This is Life, and Mosaic: A Million Little Pieces are available on Amazon. Her new book, The Stars Above Us, was released this month. Arvilla’s life advice: Never travel without snacks.