Visible Songs of Appalachia

 

by Ron Houchin

 

 

3.

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.

 

2.

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.

 

1.

The hollow crunching of the mare

chewing corn in the dark barn,

 

her smile of froth caught in flashlight beam.

The sense that she just missed being human.