How to Leave a Farmhouse
Beyond the mossy stoop, flanked
by pines like stalwart weeds,
the farmland is newly hemmed.
The loose strands broken off
with the teeth. The interstate
ascends like teeth when a mouth
opens to sing. The wind-in-your-
hair feeling is like forgetting
yourself run ragged: a kerchief
only flaps that side of the wind-
break: massive bur, understory
trees; triplets of ironwood cut
out for leverage. To be a lever
or a tool handle. Deal in chard
plantlets that come back regardless.
Beth McDermott has her PhD from the University of Illinois at Chicago. Her poetry has appeared in DIAGRAM, Harpur Palate, Terrain.org, Southern Humanities Review, etc., and her chapbook, How to Leave a Farmhouse, was published in 2015.