In the Field

by Sarah Perkins

In the field, we strip naked

and cover our nipples

in the rich fur of stolen sumac.

We will never be able to pee into the river

standing up,

but we dig our toes into the sand at the

water’s edge, anyways, and

unzip our flies.

With pants around ankles,

we crush the sumac berries between our teeth

and pull bullfrogs up to our sour chests

with the strength of both feet.

We are boys, we say,

and we mean it.

But the sumac still stains our lips and chests

as the field watches and the river

moves along.