Katie Fesuk


Because when you set fire to the skeleton
of our Christmas tree in the pine isle out back,
a garden snake emerged. Because you put it
                in a wicker picnic basket, unafraid,
and drove it to denser brush.

Because no matter how many wine glasses
break in your hands when you wash or set them
                down, even the toasting flute
                from our wedding day,
                I've more taste for you than goblets.

Because when I watch your mouth on the inside
of my imperfect thigh and the closet light
shines over your work, there is a moment
like an ice cube melting in too hot sun
when I may disappear.

Because that moment does disappear, and I want more.
                Because we move through the day like two
horses sauntering in the same direction
with all the oats and apples we should care to eat.
                Because the fields we roam will always be enough.

Because you line up olives in a winding dish
to satiate our guests, and offer to grant them
                any wish: warm fire, nuts and figs, a goose.
                Because when our flesh turns to wood and our feet to roots,
                We'll whisper farewell my Baucis, farewell my Philemon,

And even the wreaths hung on our bows by passersby
                will bear sparse beauty compared to the kindness
                sprouting forth from our mellow green limbs.
                Because our hearts will be made of bark,
                Because I will be a linden, and you, an oak.

Katie Fesuek currently teaches English in metropolitan Atlanta and serves as the Creative Writer in Residence for the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project (the local chapter of NWP). She is a native of Massachusetts, a graduate of the University of Georgia, Agnes Scott College, and Kennesaw State University, and her most recent work can be found in the forthcoming October edition of The Healing Muse.

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