I want to be the kind of tree 

you can’t reach around 

the kind that weather makes rings in

you’d see if you only 

saw me open 

But lately my gut lacks lining

It hasn’t stopped raining and

I’ve never been more selfish 



is where it should be 

I keep the light 

in the fireplace turned on 

and I twist closed 

the blinds at night 

every night because I hate one-way

glass and I hate being 

emptied out 

I am not the way the frost and famine

create narrow rings and then are

hugged by light rings 

formed in the warmth of summer,

in a period of growth 

I am soggy and stuck, 

imagining concentric circles


Caycey Pound writes and lives in South Carolina. She’s an emerging poet with a B.A. in English from the College of Charleston. When she's not writing, reading, or tutoring, she's spending time with her family, her pug, and her many plants. :-)