RACHEL BETESH
The Fine Air
tasting of pine, clear
breath of it
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
tasting of pine, clear
breath of it
When you escaped, I cackled like I was
the one who fled
He won’t stay up
when I need him so I stay out late
Somewhere the lake’s shore
meets the overcast dark
You left and the earth bent your sorrow out of view.
I say, upon hearing the name, imma write
a poem with that title
Where has all the gone
Siphoned from your banks to trim with valuation
In my living room I have a painting of my living room.
Like each year, Maryann is soaking raisins
My father begot me without a sound
I grow up
without new words