by Melissa Nunez
My feet grit gravel up the gentle sloping trail, hands
grazing the rough, ridged bark on either side—a subliminal
search of shade shelter from the sparse canopy above.
Just ahead, balls of blossoming brilliance brim from branches
pushing me further, beyond each bend, where between
wedges of green, golden globes grace each
and every limb, and an astonishing longing brings
me to pause along the trail at each new sighting,
unable to continue on until I capture its image.
This one—just perfect. Wait, that one. Now here, again.
And it is true each time: perfection.
This connection, this communion, this conocimiento.
I used to think you were mesquite, but now I know your name.
Melissa Nunez (she/her) lives and creates in the caffeinated spaces between awake and dreaming. She makes her home in the Rio Grande Valley region of South Texas, where she enjoys exploring and photographing the local wild with her homeschooling family. She writes an anime column at The Daily Drunk Mag and is a prose reader for Moss Puppy Mag. She is also a staff writer for Alebrijes Review and Yellow Arrow Publishing.