The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2010

A Capella Naked

To be eighteen and on fire, bee-stung in the skin

and a thistle on the tongue,

driving in the dark, drunk with moon and young,

waking in an un-mowed field

in the dripping dawn. Holding hands by flashlight,

the fiddle’s long lament,

the splinter arc of feedback, glint of glass in dark,

jumping in the quarry,

young and bare and cold, oblivious, unwary, wild

and full of bold, sharing sips

of whiskey while the sun slides down, singing a capella

naked to a rising moon.

Rebecca Foust