Are you lost? Come closer (the trees have dreams
that will seep into your pale skin) and rest
on moss softening this place you trespassed
because home is not home. A displaced queen
leaves a child alone. And you might redeem
what is lost by losing yourself, distress
leaks out by wandering, and branches press
you closer than arms ever could. You’ve seen
too much, been quiet as snakes that burrow
through roots, as still as owls before they drop—
but you can scream now. The leaf floor shudders
and the trees cling to you with sap, marrow
from their wooden hearts. The wind will adopt
your broken name, bury grief in mutters.
Joy Clark recently graduated with a B.F.A. in Creative Writing from Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas, where she is a transient resident. Her flash fiction has recently appeared in Juked and Oblong.
Artwork: Jeannie Nadja