My appetite is larger than
fish bones and potato peels.
I pull wisps of clouds down
for eating. I clean my teeth
with birchwood, pick forests clean.
All fables begin with ache, end
with hide unzipped. My hands, too sorry
to drink from your streams.
I turn over rocks and soft houses
to forage for anything still green.
Thingvellir National Park, Iceland
Shelby Newsom is a writer and editor residing in Michigan. A former editor at Autumn House Press and Coal Hill Review, she now runs her own editorial business working collaboratively with indie authors, publishers, and publications and is also an editor for Deep Wild Journal. She received her MFA in poetry from Chatham University. Her work has been featured in Flyway: Journal of Writing and Environment, Pilgrimage Magazine, The Hopper, and Hawk & Whippoorwill. Discover more of her work at shelbynewsom.com.
Featured image courtesy the poet.
