~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Cemetery Tree Climbing

We clambered up trunks to lifted limbs:
Green among gray names and dates.
Our forebears were buried feet away,
but we thrust upward on rungs
unimagined by those beneath.

Atop swaying magnolias, we could see
autumn-colored roofs and square holes:
our town’s blackening brick chimneys.
The feed store sign: red and white check
finish line flag stuck above double doors.

That squat, ground-level place awaited
with all its business and rusting words.
Today there was shade among feather-shaped leaves
and a view of higher and clearer skies
for children perched like angels or crows.

Disowning the Country

For one who will not return here

You reject universal rural truths
like rusted nails in a cloudy canning jar:
Relics bent by someone else’s force.

Behind expatriate teeth, you hide our dialect
like warped boards we conceal back of the barn:
Too good to burn, too turned for building.

You muscle memories into rebellious reasons
like a crooked desk drawer that still closes flush:
Stubborn friction preserves continuing conflict.

Homemade Comets

n       Bamboo garden stakes
n       Kumquats, one baseball cap full
n       Camp fuel, red 1-gallon can

At the end of my interest in toys,
stolen Rosebud matches ignited fruited
arrows sprung from a whittled bow.

Whistling flames arced overhead:
Omens searing country horizon,
portents of the awaiting whatever.

I aimed for distance, extending light
and counting seconds until the flash
was snuffed by heavy farm soil.

Beyond this acreage: a burning journey
preceding thin smoke, thick earth
punctured too soon by improvised fire.