By Alice White

Featured Art: Schuylkill Sunset by Alex Spragens

the peach tree trunk breaking our fence in half
to make room for itself, wisteria
reaching its fingers into the windows
when we look away. Waist-high nettles lie
in wait at the property line, a field
of them, teeth bared. The trail through the valley
disappears in summer under brambles
that catch and tear our clothes and skin. I chose
to have kids. To replicate myself, spread—
that’s what life does, from the most innocent
forget-me-not to the knotweed we fought
for years, painting poison onto each leaf
in spring. Of course life wants to keep living,
wants to live so much it will kill for it.

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Alice White is a poet from Kansas who lives in rural France. Her writing has received support from the Hawthornden Foundation, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and AWP Writer to Writer. Her poems have recently appeared in the Threepenny Review, the Poetry Review, North American Review, and swamp pink. www.poetalicewhite.com.