It could be a good life.
We'd piss on trees
and rub berry juice on our ankles.

You'd press a leaf in my mouth.
I'd put a stone on your forehead.

At night we'd lope along the fields
like coyotes. If a jet flew overhead
we could look up
and blame it wholly.

We'd finger the dirt.
Never ask where roads lead.

Sometimes we'd lick our teeth.

I'll tell you you look pretty
in green. You'll say I've grown clearer
since I've been drinking from the spring.

We'll forget how to talk.
We'll pick at our skin.

An angry farmer might shoot us.
We won't care.

Annalynn Hammond