poison
nobody bothered with outside
before it became poison
now the forest is full
of things that do not belong
the sand is dense on the shore
packed hard from footsteps and on the jetty
a person to every rock
we dig in our heels and refuse
change while everything becomes different
better to temper better to adapt
in the fields we will see
so many flowers growing wild with
no hands to pick their stems free
Rachael Inciarte lives and writes in the Southern California desert. She holds an MFA from Emerson College. Her poems and stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Juked, Poetry Northwest, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry and others. Find her at www.rachaelinciarte.com.
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