It is not far, not far at all beyond
the city limits where the road ends,
even the tire tracks peter out amidst
the wild-grown grass surrounded
by trees, invisible from buildings.
Just enough room to park, lay out
a blanket, pitch a tent.
Off to one edge, a ring. I thought
at first of mushrooms. But no—
of snails, their variegated shells
ablaze in the afternoon light.
I read to them awhile, until the sun
was low enough that it was time
to gather wood. Whether they
enjoyed it I’ve no idea.
A fire just long enough to warm
ramps, mushrooms, beans, a chunk
of bread torn to pieces, then to bed
and dreams of snails who aspire
to write their first poems.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Blood and Bourbon, The Stratford Quarterly, and Stonecoast Review, among others.
Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities, but now her main jobs are to hang out with her family and write poetry. Her work has appeared in Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her new chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press and is available on Amazon.com. Watch and read more of her poetry at 
Foxglove Journal 