Man of Two Spirits By David B. Prather

1...

Half of me is wild,

an untamed beast in an unspoiled forest.

I growl and dig and scratch,

my body covered in musky, ancient hair.

Mushrooms and fiddleheads,

hickory bark and lichens.

Sightings are rare, but if you watch closely,

you might see me

walking naked through the trees.

And won’t you be surprised. Me, too,

probably. Then I will walk until I disappear

behind a stand of pine or a cluster of stone.

The sun shines

its lonely face upon the field

while I scare up a season of grasshoppers

and a storm of whiteflies.

I barely sleep. Heavenly bodies

distract me and fill me with desire,

as though I could be filled with anything else.

I would speak with you,

but you wouldn’t understand

my guttural, primitive yawps and grunts.

If you ever catch me, the earth will stall

on its axis, the moon will reveal its darkness,

and the stars will flicker

until all their power is gone. Don’t worry,

you will never catch me.

Half of me is wild.

My skin is dirt. My face is a smudge

of leaves. Heaven is a patch of blue sky.

If you clear away the clouds,

you can see it.

2...

When you strip away the world, all that is left is supernatural.

Gods and ghosts, mists and myths. Yes,

I am no more than ether, a nebula of nothingness

come to visit shadows and silhouettes.

If you listen to the rain, you will hear me sing, but not in a language

easily translated. There is no reason

for worry. When you strip away the body,

skin and heart, teeth and bones,

what can you hold?

Watch out for diseases of the soul.

Vanity clusters in your essence.

Gluttony fattens your incorporeal, spectral cells. Of course,

that makes no sense, but we’ve left sense behind.

It cannot follow. God,

this is hard―this being without being,

this thought without a vessel.

I will not take your hand. I couldn’t hold it

anyway. I am a breeze, a whisper. I am a word

misheard, a chorus only you can make out.

Save your skepticism for another day. Right now,

I am nowhere and everywhere.

I am a demon and a god. While the river drains

the flood, while the starlings drag night in on their backs,

part of me melts into a vapor.

Dust begins to dance in the sunlight. If you sing this song,

nothing can make you stand still.

ABOUT:

David B. Prather is the author of three poetry collections: We Were Birds (Main Street Rag, 2019), Shouting at an Empty House (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023), and Bending Light with Bare Hands: A Journal of Poems (Fernwood Press, 2025). His , work has appeared in many publications, including New Ohio Review, Prairie Schooner, Cutleaf, Poet Lore, etc. He lives in Parkersburg, WV. Visit http://www.davidbprather.com/ and find him on Instagram and Threads @davidbprather.

EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: King Stingray -- Through The Trees