I'd rather walk on ice
than water, and one night
I do. I sleepwalk over dead
earth, broken bark and branches,
and wake barefoot on a cold
mountain pond. I am praying.

I do not believe in God.

The moon is half
empty and the air is loud,
hard, exactly as it should be
after an ice storm. I do believe
in this: the quiet answers
my feet give as I walk back,
numb now to the sharp earth,

aware only of what this body needs.


Sea Squirt, Indonesia, copyright 2005 Mary Pearson

Copyright 2012,  Tara Shea Burke

Tara Shea Burke completed her MFA at Old Dominion University in May 2012. She is a poetry editor for Barely South Review, teaches freshman literature and composition, and has an essay in the forthcoming book, Loving the L Word: The Complete Series in Focus. She lives with her girlfriend and their three dogs in Chesapeake, Virginia.

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