rumble jank-jank-jank the pick-up beats at the road,
a drunk unstable in black rubber wing tips,
banging wildly, clattering like a bowl of bones,
your grandpa at the wheel, hat cocked left, gun cocked on the seat
ripples in the dirt, rain compacted under the hills
of home
beware the hedge apple and wild melons along the crick,
beware the ghosts in the dusty aired haylofts,
beware the haunted slopes and bloodied deer-pelts of Twin Mounds
west of town
hurtling down Svensk to The Dip, gon’ to catch bluegill
or white bass north of Durham
late in the year when the river comes cold from the resovoir
it’ll be dinner soon, grandma making “American potatoes” already,
honey bear, apple cider vinegar for the fish,
she leans into the window over the sink,
west into the high pasture,
cardinals in the elm tree,
cats in the barn, sweet coconut in the pantry
even you had been a child
it’s pheasant and quail, fall turkey, early deer,
rabbits all year ‘round,
seasons in the seasons, milo fields been cropped,
shotguns oiled, shells in the breach, a blind buried
in the catalpas down on the east bank,
horse tank deer stand in the black walnut
just behind the veil
there’ll be snow soon, snow and something else,
I’ll never bury you, I said, then I did, high up on the hill
there’ll be snow on the tombstones,
snow and something else
soon enough
This poem originally appeared in the print edition of Locust Review 9. Social media image by Laura Fair-Schulz. Locust Review 9 cover by Adam Ray Adkins.
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