Poem of the Week: Kelly Barnhill
The last poem of the week, for now, is a second piece from Kelly Barnhill: two of our judges chose different poems of hers. Stay tuned: we'd like to continue this program.
What it’s like to run naked
With my underwear drying
on the hot stones by the fire,
instead of clinging decently
to the curves of my body
my skin was free of cotton
aching for air, for moonlight
and I was alone in the dew
drenched, wind swept field
with my sweatshirt brushing
my knobbed knees, my body still
damp from hours of swimming
in the red iron waters pumping
through the upper mississippi,
my skin stretched taut against
the bones of my hips, my thighs
starting to cringe, pucker
with cold, and it seemed
like there was no choice,
that I could do nothing better
than to whip my slight covering
off and run towards the passionate
sky, my skin glowing pink
and orange, my legs licked
by the soft tongues of uncut
sweetgrass.