In the Fields
with lines from D. A. Powell
We unyoke owl pellets from marrow
in desert meadow. His mouth pigeon eye
a torch, womb turned flower. He, still a boy,
dug from cactus skull. Undress into bark
beetles. He unlearns how to hold a fist
with my hand. Bursts into dandelion
seeds. We are all beautiful at least once.
Mud water puddles along enamel.
Eyeteeth blossom into osprey. Our bones
dampen like snow melt under squirrel grass.
We could be boys together finally
as milk vetch, tumbleweed, and sticker bush.
We can be beautiful again beneath
the sumac, yarrow, and bitter water.
Originally published in Ploughshares, 2019. Copyright © 2019 by Jake Skeets. Used with the permission of the poet.