Lost on My Wedding Day
Something beyond the tree line bares its teeth,
January sky sits above us, brooding.
their pulse up close—steady thrum in their necks.
Turkey vultures seem to gather in judgment,
to the dry, knuckled branch directly above us;
some with their beaks open. I once ducked
I was convinced I could disappear. We proceed
flooding in summer, saplings uprooted and dragged
on the surface now, no telling how thin it is.
the sash of pasture woven between these hills
can barely hold its cold, its tidy loss of fire.
|No. 12 - Fall 2013
Copyright 2017 Waccamaw. All reprint rights reserved by authors.