our parents as deciduous forests of the upper midwest
blunt needles where cuffed jeans of hemlock want kindling. his mouth dead with kentucky
coffeetree in the plaque. we snap balsam in our pockets. you point at an elm & say life’s a beech.
somewhere wind stirs, somewhere
it doesn’t. or the leaves stir the wind, creepers sinch around wooden ankles, & entrapment. even
hands as soft as northern catalpa. even stolons, the name for runners or clones
or false. even our nails, chipped & hanging on. swamp
white oak where she threw sheep’s head
into the grist. everyone or thing standing around us is tall & holding blades. when black ash trees
cripple & fall,
the process is called a failure. you can tell the run-off wants to form
a river here, or something else we don’t have the veins for. we don’t look at a samara & say
yes. that.
that will one day be what we never expected. we’re told, by next solstice, the buds will
be more than veneer. we have to trust that.
regret poem with stem cut close to soil
sawzall bent back to your thumb. the smaller the separation, the less you have to call it a wound. fruit body, trama, the cuticle farthest from the heart, what you might consider memory. weft &
woof yarn, legs crossed for too long. a reference to flesh is a reference to disconnection. the softest tissue of a mushroom where vacancy crumbles into hollow. when picked, it’s picked. if
the mycelium decides to grow in the same spot again, then it was never picked. it will do what’s right for it.
Liam Strong (they/them) is a queer neurodivergent cripple punk writer and photographer who owns two Squishmallows, three Buddhas, a VHS of Cats The Musical, and somewhere between four and eight jean jackets. They are the author of the chapbook Everyone’s Left the Hometown Show (Bottlecap Press, 2023). Find them on Instagram/Twitter: @beanbie666. linktr.ee/liamstrong666.