The Fine Air

tasting of pine, clear
breath of it, appetite
for feeling spent,
light, lighter than
it looks, but these
are trees made small.
wind of it, delivery,
spilled out in pieces:
stems, wood-knots,
anything that pushed
back. heave of it,
only the pile was heavy;
not the lift, arm by arm.
that was easy,
the way branches look,
how they just keep
heading out
into it, the fine air
of fir-tips where
that’s all right.

Rachel Betesh is a registered nurse, gardener, and mother who writes poems. Her poetry has been featured in The New Yorker and Brink Literary Journal; long-listed for Palette Poetry’s 2022 emerging poet prize; and is forthcoming in Bennington Review.