National Poetry Month: WE ARE WHERE WE TREMBLE by Kimberly Burwick

In the lean fraction of distance between back barn

and the godfather moan of wind, dry volleying

of ruddy starlings and the forthright chord

that is both creek and birds of screech,

is the pattern by which we come up from caves,

the austerity and dissolve of light after qual sleep,

the real slavery of breathing such quiet rain.

We stay because we are good for the silence of horses,

break rock, break harvest in wood-weather,

in the cardboard stack beside the red prairie house.

This poem is from issue 37.2. You may purchase a copy here.