If you could whittle me out of a tree what would I look like how would my re-imagining be you say I don’t need legs on account of the flying I eat berries high up in the trees strip each bud deftly off branches without the error of squeezing but allow them to color me I turn lilac and cerulean I am mistaken for rain I blooden as if clotting but maneuver swiftly never stopping to look down never sleeping never grooming never touching other blooded things and rush into ether leglessly humming sternum bearing the weight of the wind losing speed stranded by the thinness of air where I linger shed the body like leaves and you lose sight of me knowing I am no part of what lands at your feet withered at the base of a tree in a mound of seeds. [End Page 138]
Jeanine Deibel’s poetry is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Whiskey Island, among others. She is the author of the chapbook In the Grave (Birds of Lace Press, 2013). Her second chapbook, Spyre, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in winter 2014. For more information, visit: jeaninedeibel.weebly.com.