Issue 4:1 I Poetry I Ron Houchin
Visible Songs of Appalachia
by Ron Houchin
The certainty each morning, walking the slope,
hand-holding my way among rumoring beeches,
that every second is a new thing I’m learning,
like the safe end of the buckeye;
and that awful awareness the worm-crammed
crabapple in my hand was once a young heart.
Walking the hush in the buildup
of maple and sycamore leaves, the fawn-
camouflage of afternoon sun speckles,
hand-sized spans of heat between boulders,
the sense everywhere of a woman bathing.
The hollow crunching of the mare
chewing corn in the dark barn,
her smile of froth caught in flashlight beam.