Appalachian Spring

phibby — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 07:35:41 -0700

Appalachian Spring Pastoral & elegant, I live in a tree a watercolor woman, an animated leaf Vigor pours out of the veins of the limb I have the great strength of an oak to live in On some days I move to the grief of a willow some days, cottonwoods, some days a bare birch From high up, I nod to the courage of flowers forsythia, peonies, ...

Appalachian Spring

phibby — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 07:35:30 -0700

Wrecks That Are Human

phibby — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 19:25:32 -0800

Wrecks That Are HumanI mean to pick the sweet mint that grows wild on the hillbeside the railroad tracks, but I hear voices and squat,narrowed into myself, and listening to the people under the trestle.I can see them too, a man says, Happy Jack, where the hellis that wood, and Happy Jack is laughing, which seems appropriate,and he waves some small sticks, and a woman says, hurry,it is cold, and ...

An Opening In A Small Town

phibby — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 09:13:45 -0800

An Opening in a Small Town I lived in a cotton town where the mouth of the mill fell open each morning and the people disappeared into the neck of it. They said I could work there too, when I was sixteen, and I did, but the lint settled on my lashes & in my throat. The knitting machines could not stop. Heavy rolls of cloth were cut loose for replacement. Production rose each time it was ...

A Hermit Mimosa

phibby — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 12:33:09 -0700

A Hermit MimosaSummer and the mimosaappears in an overhangof vague beauty.There is the subliminal hintof white in her hair.A dozen trees press close.Sometimes the wind liftsa pink strand of curl.Her fragility, small antennas,of pale music notes.Sometimes a warrior oakshakes his hands free of moss,but she is the mimosawith her head afloat.

Rain Song on Holston

phibby — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 12:29:04 -0700

Rain Song on HolstonThere is an island called Alimony Hillthat lies in the curve of the Holston.The men gather for comparsionsof censored paychecks & loungewith sympathetic women.They believe they have childrenthat chew on check stubs and wives that spend frivolously.There are verbatim frogs on a drop over bank that sing the men over to the saucered island.Crickets listen by the campfire that ...

Red Clay

phibby — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 12:26:09 -0700

Red ClayEven in winter there is little reliefthe Carolina clay is clingingin relentless stains, thewater pipes must be replacedand the mud in stubborn spoilsleave deep red, and faded orangereminders on the rugsNothing of us remains inthis tinted place, where even thesnow surrenders its deepest whiteThe ground seeps beneath usand the first freeze of sleeted rainhas rushed from raw, bronzed ...