I want to be the small frond of a fern,
to feel the hushed prayer of the rolling wind,
to curl to the sky in lapsing drought,
to be green with life for a while, to be
blind and dead too. To have time enough
at last to do all the sweet nothings,
to be a home to many stories,
to listen and not speak so much.
I want to exhale life like oxygen.
I want to hide above the ground
in plain sight, reprieve for cardinals and
robins- to be a softness, admired.
And I want to feel with my
feathery fingers for moisture,
for the blessing of rain, to grow into
myself again and again. I want to taste
of dirt- of the ground up high.
To be unconcerned and unrelenting.
The greenery. The good of the earth.
Erica Appleton was born and raised along the Cumberland River in Tennessee. She currently resides in Charleston, South Carolina where she is an MFA candidate at the College of Charleston. She works in prose, poetry, and photography. In her free time, Erica hikes the
eastern coastal trails and tries to catch sunsets on Isle of Palms with her dog, Toby.
