Morning Person

These are the best 

days 

when the sun kisses 

your face 

so golden 

that it turns 

the blush red 

of a tang-sweet 

rosehip fruit, 

the pin of 

sap silk blood 

when a black 

thorn on the 

crown of its stem 

kisses the soft 

web between thumb 

and pointer finger.

Or the water 

running down,

afraid

of what is just up 

the crested hill; 

of black and oil 

smeared tarmack. 

When we reach the 

top, see a car 

on fire, 

and think only of 

our eggs 

pan-fried perfect 

in sticky sizzling 

butter just hours 

before, 

and the fig we ate with it. 

Even when 

bones ache 

hard as bruised 

plums

from the cloud 

bank that keeps 

bowling into 

your gut--

anvil--

these are the best 

days, 

when we, 

and the fruit king, 

dance

lollygag-slow, 

and tipsy turvy 

into a hug around

the middle, 

and a flameless face.

Member Appreciation Week

During good days 

I seed sea farms to ropes, 

one spore at a time:

lined pearls pressed 

into twine. 

In the evenings 

the orchard hums

a quiet apple-gold.

And in the mornings 

a bunny prunes our sweet peas, 

broccoli, and beans.

Licks of growth 

times of lush

a little ledge of land 

yesterday, too rocky

tomorrow, too cold.

Lady Eel

glass eels

lightning spiders 

reminders 

of why I hug 

the webbing between my toes

when it rains 

when my bones ache three days prior 

a vow without a ring

women sacrifice and spin fairytales to life

grace of lace wings and a taut womb 

and I a woman

and spiders spit flaming full of eggs 

glass eel girls poached in the dark of night

Essie (she/her) is a senior geology major from Newcastle, Maine. In her free time she enjoys swimming in cold water, skipping rocks, seaweed, popcorn, playing frisbee, knitting, climbing trees, dancing, running, and of course, writing poetry. Thank you to the Snaggletooth team for all the hard work!