Cycle by Lisa Alletson
I was born when a fox coughed
shattering sunlight
and the forest spilled open.
I emerged from a slash
between her empty trees
creaking out with every paw
ever stepped
leapt, arabesque
through that square mile of trees.
I return, old,
to kiss her branches
shake open her garden
of wild things and trilliums
unbox frogs
from damp caves
take off my clothes
wade through her leaves.
Lisa Alletson grew up in South Africa and the UK, and now lives in Toronto, Canada. She has poetry forthcoming or published in New Ohio Review, The Lumiere Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, SilverBirch Press, Bangalore Review, Beyond Words, Osmosis Press, and Dodging the Rain, among others. She writes daily on Twitter at @LotusTongue.