Escaping St. Peters, Indiana
Rachel Back

I buried myself in the cold asphalt street.
I trapped myself in the earth between
life and death. I was a stake pulled 
from the hard garden ground, splintering 
in half when the earth refused to give.

From my grave, I watched two trees
stretching, reaching desperately 
for the other with branches too short, 
hacked away by jagged chainsaw teeth.
Their separation mocked by those who hewed
their limbs from their body. Their roots 
are left burrowed deep on either side of Blue Creek.

A portal to the afterlife opened
in their reflection with a whispered 
promise, a gateway to freedom, 
where I am no longer torn between life 
and death with part of my soul cleaved
from my body. A winding road opens
in front of me leading the way out 

of town to a city where hands can cross
the divide and caress the face of their lover 
without the fear of being sawed in two.
St. Peters had become my prison, 
Blue Creek my cell block, and if I remained 
I would serve a life sentence buried between 
the two trees, the lovers reaching
but never catching the other. 

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