Trees by Betsy Martin

a pithy fall day 
the hill stippled with
peach, rose, yellow
a friend and I

stride over it 
among other walkers, maples 
oaks, ripple 
of leaves

with breeze brisk on our cheeks we talk
about youth, the old streets
families, secrets, seeds
whisked by decades of winds

and about necks 
how to wind a scarf
to hide the furrows
we talk

about beeches with gray bark-flesh
still bearing initials and hearts
carved into them
when they were young

Betsy Martin is the author of the poetry chapbook, Whale’s Eye (Presa Press). Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Briar Cliff Review, The Cape Rock, Cloudbank, Crack the Spine, The Green Hills Literary Lantern, Juked, The Louisville Review, The Penmen Review, Pennsylvania English, Typehouse Literary Magazine and many others. She has advanced degrees in Russian language and literature. She is also an artist. Visit her at

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