Mureall Hebert

Un | know | ing

Imagine how
worry has shrunk
her limbs,

how her muscles
have hardened
to smoke-

dried, salt-
trimmed strips.
How her bones

are a brittle
uprooted
yew tree.

Imagine how she
covets the softer
part of her

tucked away
like a spore
waiting

to germinate, emerge,
& I love
is written inside her

& I
love you &
love you

is the better
part of
who she is.

It’s hard to know where
the end begins
or how she catches

herself when fissures
gape beneath her.
She’s not a goat

with hooves that perch
in crevices. Her hands
have heels and fingers,

but no wings. And yet, she digs
through sand to let the ocean
flow. She balances rocks

on mountaintops.

Essence

She moves like she’s running from something.
Rubs lotion on her ankles.
She’s running from something.
         Her body is a race track.

Hold her feet near the fire. Warm them. She rests
her limbs on pillows. Do I exist if I’m not in motion?
Yes, but only if you believe you exist.

The day I become a bird, I know flight.
The day it rains, I find oceans.
If I believe, then I see it.

Her heart beats like butterflies
against starlight. Once, she passed under
a lightning rod & insects
crowded the sky. June
beetles circled. Moths threshed
through darkness,
feathered arrows
with hearts of tatted lace.

When she races,
         she builds a track
for her body, curls
her limbs in ovals.

Lift her feet
         to the fire
& she stops running. She
soars like flight
& slivered rain.

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Mureall Hebert: I’ve lived in several different countries, states, and cities, but found my home in the Pacific Northwest. I feel the most centered when living in balance with nature, whether that’s foraging, wildcrafting, or volunteering in a wildlife rehabilitation hospital. Many of my poems, as you might imagine, weave elements of the natural world into their narratives. Online: mureallhebert.com, mureallhebert.bsky.social.