*Honorable Mention in the Carolina Woman Magazine Writing Contest*
In blades of tender grass
and opulent black
raspberry bushes edging the woods, I look
Barefoot, I pad along the steaming road,
incense of sun-ripened pine
filling my breast, these green giants incline
toward me with every zephyr, benevolent
nudging toward an exploration
I cannot see.
My hands and lips are
sticky with nectar berry,
I'm green at the knees,
jewels of dew drops and
slugs garnish my legs: glittering
stockings. Tiny sun-yellow
cowslips and Queen Anne's lace
crown my hair, speckle my skin.
I am neither girl
embraced and subsumed.