Beth Suter

Hollow

like limestone caves in the Ozarks
there are holes below the surface

an erosion of bones in the poem—

have you seen cicadas molt
how they leave a bit of muscle
when they pull themselves out—

there should be a word for motherless
in the shape of an open mouth—

I dream I die
falling up into the starred dark—

the place that bore me beckons

Beth Suter

studied environmental science at U.C. Davis and has worked as a naturalist and teacher. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, she has contributed to Colorado Review, New American Writing, Barrow Street, Birmingham Poetry Review, Poet Lore, and other magazines. Her debut chapbook, Snake and Eggs, was chosen as a finalist in the 2021 New Women’s Voices Contest (Finishing Line Press).