ON THE ROAD EAST OF THE RED BARN
BY PAT ANTHONY
Deep in the woods, we sit the grey plank
bridge above the creek, no more really
than three 4 x 12’s with a bit of framing.
Too narrow for the county mowers so
everything’s grown up into bowers and
caves, poison ivy, smilax, horse weeds.
Sometimes, if the water’s low, a turtle
will share a rock with a speck of sun,
but it’s mostly dappled shade, damp
and rank, green mud, leaf drift. Go
farther east past the farm with all
the dogs and you can count frogs
beside the arrowhead, but here
it’s just the silence above and
beneath those splintered timbers,
the smell of air so ripe it drips.
Gyroscope Review 16-4
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