NATURE POEM

They cut down an ancient tree on the university green yesterday. I lay myself across the width of its stump and get splinters in my shoulder blades. My mouth tastes like hydrocortisone. When night falls, the moon is a sliver mark made by a fingernail that gouged the sky, the bruised horizon mocked by the lithium glow of a thousand red tail lights. Arms unfurling, I trace the caps of defiant little mushrooms peeking through the dewy lawn despite the herbicide treatments. Networks of mycelium will consume the concrete. Nothing can stop the foundation from rotting.

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N. Taupe is someone’s pseudonym. They are a queer/disabled/trans/nonbinary person. Their work has previously been published in hyacinthus mag, warning lines, and Full House Literary Magazine. You can find them @taupe_n on Twitter.