By Heleana Bakopoulos
PROMPT — If only ...
Fish, teething filleted fish
of yesterday on a bed of blueberries,
with purple fingertips and
spider legs, penetrating denim grain.
We fled from wasps we
stopped each other under the canopy
and made a map on a tree stump,
termites of skinned knees.
I burnt my forearms by the fire I
couldn’t feel my legs under fleece,
wet because snow never stays frozen
as long as I think it will.
We preferred nectarines to peaches
and I didn’t watch the salmon be
scaled from tail to gill but
I made up a game on the beach.
We stopped each other and never
We only ever harmonized about it
with the mark of the woods carved into us,
tracing a maze into our limbs.
Heleana Bakopoulos is a student of English and Classical Studies at Whitman College. She writes from Seward, AK.