berkshires by Bear Weaver
CW: Cancer

for hallie
we two plow the fresh relics / of our bodies /
through the cornfield / pitch our anguished /
living histories / into the river / and deliver a
cannabis / invocation / sure / a river’s just a
place to lie naked / in your pocket in the sun /
until it’s a source of / manifestation / the
current a summer spell / every sailing leaf a
holy entity / every light eruption / of the skin /
an affirmation / that there is nothing / the body
can’t heal / that there is nothing / the carers
who abandon you know / that ancient wisdom
hasn’t trawled / a cosmic creature aflutter with
/ one hundred trillion / gut flora / an ecology
as big as our / barred spiral galaxy if / you
zoom in close enough / a body’s just a body
unless / like everything else / that’s a lie /
unless its birth is a big bang / unless our
mothers lit for us / one hundred trillion lights /
to call those biome-dwellers home / the river
stuns the body / until the body claims it / a
joint / is just a joint / until it isn’t
Bear Weaver was built by Florida’s Gulf Coast, as were their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents. Bear is a poet and photographer currently residing and cancer-surviving in southern New England, but can be found tweeting @WvrBear.