The branches of the pine are expanding,
kaleidoscoping. I lay parallel to the Indiana sky
and count the paths the light takes: endless
needling green. I can see this tree from every room
of our apartment, through each window. It joins us.
The branches transpose light to a glittering thing,
dancing, casting fairy shadows.
I can see my daughter here, dancing
beneath bird-filled pines, older
than this Midwestern town. We might
spread a blanket over the pine needles,
lay out on the hill and look up
through the branches and watch.
I could teach her to press her ear
to the forest floor as her infant ear
is pressed now to my chest.
Feel the heartbeat of the world,
still turning, hurtling through light.
~~~Rachael Bull (she/her) is a queer Appalachian writer, mother, and graduate student currently located in Central Indiana. Her work is rooted in and inspired by her home in the hills and hollers of East Tennessee. When she isn’t writing, she can be found serving coffee and seeking out the beauty in the midwestern mundane.
