RACHEL BETESH
The Fine Air
tasting of pine, clear
breath of it
tasting of pine, clear
breath of it
He won’t stay up
when I need him so I stay out late
Somewhere the lake’s shore
meets the overcast dark
You left and the earth bent your sorrow out of view.
I say, upon hearing the name, imma write
a poem with that title
Where has all the gone
Siphoned from your banks to trim with valuation
In my living room I have a painting of my living room.
Like each year, Maryann is soaking raisins
My father begot me without a sound
I grow up
without new words
View our 2023 James Welch Prize winners and finalists in this online folio, featuring the full poems of m.s. RedCherries and Nicole Wallace.