of tree bark. My earth-coated fingertips
are my eyes, sifting through cracked
leaves, pausing at every smooth pecan.
Even while sprawled on a picnic blanket,
my spine arched like a seal’s, this work
feels primitive, as if a family’s survival
depends on my filling one bucket, then another.
The bluest sky in weeks overhead,
I am too busy for worries or even dreams.
— Melissa Fite
Melissa Fite earned her Master’s in English literature from Pittsburg State University in Kansas and now teaches English at Pittsburg High School. She writes poetry as frequently as she can, usually just often enough to keep her from getting kicked out of her beloved workshop group. Melissa lives at home with her boyfriend and dog.