~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Brad Shurmantine

Shades of Brown

Fields the color of a lion,

not one color.

Waves of dark honey roll through dead grass,

patches of sandy tan.

Tree trunks stick out, dried turds,

like the scat the little coyote left,

that tawny ghost.

Pebbles in the dry stream bed

where water rivulets down

when there was water

are camel, caramel coffee,

chestnut and cocoa, copper, taupe,

rust and russet, mahogany and walnut,

more beautiful when they glisten wet.

What isn't more beautiful wet?

"Shades of brown can be produced

by combining red, yellow, and black pigments"

or withholding water for months or years.

Taupe is French for mole

whose rocky, russet mounds proliferate

like acne, perforate my lawn.

They dig deeper, deeper seeking worms,

wiggles of raw umber, craving moisture.

Dry leaves from my maple trees

which I can't water

because my well is dry

create a crunchy chocolate blanket

weirdly pleasing to kick through

as I patrol & count dead bushes.

The lions snooze on a savannah hillside

brown as my field, shifting like sand,

their muzzles smeared,

caked with blood and liver. The guides

whisper warnings:

Take all the pictures you want,

but stay in the truck.

Stay in the truck.

Brad Shurmantine lives in Napa, CA, where he writes, reads, and tends three gardens (sand, water, vegetable), five chickens, two cats, and two bee hives. His fiction and personal essays have appeared in Monday Night, Loch Raven Review, and Catamaran; his poetry in Third Wednesday, Cacti Fur, and Blue Lake Review. He backpacks in the Sierras, travels when he can, and prefers George Eliot to Charles Dickens, or almost anyone. Website: bradshurmantine.com