• maeellen 5w


    my teeth pressing gently on the inside of my bottom lip,
    like the word l o v e on the tip of my tongue
    and I'm struck, suddenly
    with the beauty of the world in front of me,
    the trees framing a sandstone structure
    their long limbs decorated with clumps of green far into fall.
    poetry doesn't seem like poetry when it happens, but instead after
    when it hits you
    like a pull,
    or maybe a punch to the gut.