Stomaching the Landscape

01.21.25| Vol. 56, No. 3 | Poetry
Stomaching the Landscape
I make my home in a forest creek.
I lay on the bottom,
water flowing over my ankles,
my hips, my shoulders.
It threatens to cover
my nose and claim me as part
of the landscape.
I pull myself
on my stomach
over the slimy river stones
and I try to stand up.
Every time I get to my knees
a pebble shifts
and I lose myself.
When I make it to the shore
I’ll turn around and face the creek,
feet resting in the water.
I’ll sit on dirt and fir needles
and when I notice how they cling to me
I’ll go back to the water
to get clean.
Illustration by Mackenzie Beck

Beatrix Taylor
Beatrix has been “finishing up” her degree in Creative Writing and English for the past two years. She has two dogs, is taller than a lot of people, and has had pieces published in The Navigator as well as Portal Magazine. If she isn’t consuming more media than her brain can handle, she’s probably chatting away with whoever will yap with her.