Daily Poem: Beechnut ~ Arisa White
Beechnut
~ Arisa White
A Charlie horse passes through the wound
set years ago. Winter in the mountains, the beech
twisted and it was paper we could use. In that
classic way, seen on TV, wanting one day to be
that girl, you revealed your Swiss army knife
and the bark knew we would. Maybe we scared
away the owls who may have nested there
and everything was the perfect we loved. Our
initials traveled to heart, aged our presence
to diaphanous, to shirr between thought and
sometimes we move on. What is planted is
resilient; its shell grows spines, the nut a sweet
portion, hints close to satisfaction and its how I
come to understand our touch. Woodwinds have
memory; I haven’t advanced beyond Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star, and the tapping on the streetlamp was often
opposite notes we shared. We engineered shepherds
to herd our swords, Oakland felt similar disharmony
and built a lake to meet the need for breath and matter.
Water finds scent and apology and people to beach
on its cusp. Reminds the heart there are summer
dresses to be worn, and twirling that happens in them.
Beechnut Tree
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