by Joseph Kitchens
Old friend, show me the old pictures. Tell me the old stories. Talk to me about shotguns and dogs,covey rises and missed shots. Bring your dog. and we can walk a fence row. Kick up a bird or two. What books have you read about my beloved South? Did I tell you about falling off the Jekyll Island Bridge when it was being built? I was just a boy. Lightning finally got that old pine that grew beside the barn. Could have killed Star, too. Haven’t ridden her in years. We still talk, though. She’s a damned good listener.
Red cockade woodpeckers
Hammer red-hearted
Pines to find
The hollow center for nesting.
Rattlesnakes share
Gopher tortoise burrows with
Their indifferent hosts,
Safe below from creeping,
Man-made fire
That cleans the forest floor
And consumes pine needles
That might feed a greater flame,
Taking back what vine and bramble
Have conquered in the endless summer.
I have seen a white tail buck,
Driven to madness by deer flies,
Leap into a duck pond
And plod through lily pads,
Risking the lazy power
Of basking alligators.
But I feel safe in moonlit
Pines and look for
Darting silhouettes
Of doves at dawn
And marvel at the husks
Of molted cicadas
Hanging to the slick bark
Of an ancient sentinel,
Here I am renewed by the life around me.
Note: This poem was originally published in a slightly different form in Sanctuary:The Interdisciplinary Arts Magazine of Reinhardt University, 2017.