POETRY

A Woman Strolls by a Table with a Warm Apricot Atop

By Lindsey Wayland     VOLUME 56 No. 4

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A woman warms into certain forms like an apricot tree.

I watch the baby’s pincer grip strengthen.
I listen as the toddler titles himself.

One day I have milk stains on my only clean dress,
years later--

My skin, like the nodes of the moon
around my bones, muscle, and sinew,
strolls into this form and that form.

In the mother culture, we live
when lived by.

The skin of the apricot is warm, sitting on the table in the sun.
The seed of the apricot cannot name itself, but I name it my child.

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LINDSEY WAYLAND is a native Texan. A poet, calligrapher, and researcher with a background in psychology, she is an MFA candidate at Pacific University. Wayland teaches poetry workshops to adolescent males in residential treatment. She lives in Port Townsend with her family. Her poetry is also published in Bellevue Literary Review.


VOLUME 56 No. 4