Beau Sia

Apr 17, 2023 | poets.org | Jake Skeets |Beau Sia |Julia Levine |Carolyn Forché

Snow a celestial orchard in bloom,mile after mile of pine and graniteclothed in an empire of silence. We burned newspapers, a cord of wood, a bed framethe squatters before us had left. Mornings, our boots made tracksbeside the split moons of deer, the clawed prints of bear,even as wind whittled it all away. Some afternoons, there was sunlight through the windowsand we’d lie inside our zipped-together bagsmoving like a legless shadow. Nights, we heard wolves with the sky inside their throats.