I will touch all the places along the shore that were hidden to me. I will be tender with the stones beneath my belly. Fish and crawfish will swim in my hair. I will receive the snow melt and burst beyond where they thought my place was, I will move buildings, topple trees, bring mud rich with rot onto the fields, it will be the same as my former life, when they praise me and curse me. I will fall on my knees to reenter the Mother, I will rise up to fall again as rain, you will turn your face to me and though it looks like weeping, I will kiss you, nothing between us at last. ____
Adrie Rose plays with words and plants in unceded Nonotuck territory. Her work has previously appeared in The Night Heron Barks, Nimrod, Underblong, Muzzle, and more. She won the Elizabeth Babcock Poetry Prize, the Ethel Olin Corbin Prize, and the Gertrude Posner Spencer Prize in 2021. Find her on Twitter @AdrieLovesPie.