| |
The Forgotten Sins of Ft.McCoy
Here, in Florida, you can still taste the river.
The Ocklawaha still bears catfish
When you let chicken liver sink to the bottom
And the glimmer of the hook hides in the sand,
And it still breathes out before it ducks
Under foot-bridges to cool the boys skipping school.
I remember my first fish, so slick,
With needle whiskers and eyes
So desperate and afraid I started to choke,
Freeing the single barbed hook.
Sometimes the fresh river air clings
To the upholstery of passing cars
And hitchhikes with them past
The burnt foundation of the general store
Where I stole my first Baby Ruth.
That store burned down a few years back,
But kids still meet their buses
Next to the black-tarred lot
Dew still runs off the kerosene tank
The fire department showered for hours
The night the building was consumed.
I was sorry for the little shiners in the tank
Beside the ice chest just outside the front door.
Gossip holds the owner set the fire
After he drove, half asleep and drunk
Into the De’Latore’s car at midnight.
There is no marker, now, for the scene,
But the three crosses used to glow white . . .
If the fog still swells the way I remember,
Not down from the clouds, but up from the grass,
The only traffic light in town
Will still feel like a red sunburst
Against my sleep-robbed cheeks
But wet with the dawn,
Wet with the dawn and memory,
And I will take deep breaths
And taste the river again.
Land of my young hands
Land of errant pine needles!
Land of my first sin
And my first wet wound.
Printable Version |
|
Magnolia