Hemi

Inside our tents we drum
on our full bellies, make hemiolas 

until neighboring campers come
to quiet us. In these woods, 

I don’t dream. My weight lays heavy
on the ground. I stiffen like flannel left out to dry.

We wake and walk for miles.
All my blood is in my fingertips. 

A blister blooms on my hip bone.
You take my photo at the edge of a rugged cliff face.

Our world is half
water, half dirt, half light, half dark, 

half amnesia, half clarity, half feather,
half iron, half cut, half mend. I know 

there can’t be so many halves in a whole, that’s just the way
I want things — divided, divided.

Make camp again. Your body
in the hammock’s membrane, a hemisphere I want to peer inside.

Lily Tobias is a poet from Fenton, Michigan. Her poem “Strawberry Interlude” was recently shown at the Paseo Arts Association Small Art Show and her work has appeared in Rockvale Review, River Heron Review, and elsewhere. Lily lives in Michigan with her husband, Josh, and their cats Wallace and George. Find Lily at her website: lilytobias.com