I Suspect You Can Feel It

I Suspect You Can Feel It

by Katrina Pelow

an inherited carry-on of roots
and knucklebones, a dedication

to drought, clay soil and a son
who still tends to his mother’s

vegetable garden in the dark.
There is always a time to send

him back down to the south,
missing the metropolis, the road

his only cross. It’s not about aesthetics,
the delicate crawl across vocal cords,

swaying stalks in bleak, white
mornings, cold hands and cold skin —

it’s about kneading the soil
like warm risen baker’s bread,

before the rows of lettuce leaves
are littered with the radiation of the city

lights, too heavy for the moon.
Katrina Pelow is a graduate student at the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts, where she is studying poetry. Her work can also be found in the Rubbertop Review. She currently resides in Kent with her bunny, Cabbage.

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