Harvest
I plant seeds and I weave between the ghosts of
the field—those fatigued, war-torn echoes in the
clouds who press ice into the buds of the
rhododendrons and dress the moon in black.
I pull weeds and this is my harvest; this reaping
of my past selves one by one, those cold leaves
long decaying among the dust and the dirt
and the discarded roses from discarded lovers.
I lift the roots from the earth and I sew strings
of their sweet dark strength into my foggy lungs,
their seeds held tight between my teeth for the
fields my hands are yet to meet.
I water the sprouts and pour it slow and steady—
those sweetly ripe bundles wrapped in old death.
I let them heal and let myself feel what used to
be and what left long ago.
I plant seeds, and as for the ghosts of the field—
those shadowed whispers high in the willows or
hanging low from the eaves—my harvest spreads
fast and sweet and they fall silent at my feet.
Yellow
When we were young, we ran
through gold fields on strong
legs like foxes wild with the
morning sun. We washed our hair
of time and worry and we bathed
in warm promises of tomorrow.
We grew tall as the pines, our arms
strong as we reached for the
sun as if it were a small gold coin
to be cupped in our outstretched
hands. The days flowed like sand
through our fingers—we were
pendulums in perpetual sway. When
we were young, we ran through gold
fields, laughing like lightning,
clutching the sun in our hands
like a million yellow buttercups.
A Leaving Song
I.
Things didn’t go as planned. Pieces of us stuck
somewhere high up in the ice on the elms
and in the gray grass that crunched and sighed
that whole winter. I remember a hum in the
early morning like cotton in my ears, a numbness
in my fingers and on my tongue, like winter was
moving in and here to stay.
II.
At night, I hear an owl outside my window
who lives alone and drinks the night like
hope, or courage, or something sweeter
I have not yet tasted. He clutches the dark
close and grows silent in the light, and this
makes me want to ask him what he knows
of love.
About Savannah Roberson
Savannah is a sophomore English major and Appalachian Studies minor at Radford University where she enjoys playing music, reading, spending time with her family, friends, and her dog, Jake, and exploring as much of her beloved mountains as she can. She hopes to continue pursuing her writing, music, and adventuring.