The Quiet Circle Volume 1 Issue 1 | Page 33

P O E T R Y
A Recovered Drug Addict Recalls A Longabsent Acquaintance
DREW S. COOK
— OUACHITA NATIONAL FOREST
FEBRUARY 14
T
HE blunted molars of the continent lean in, here, where I lean out, looking down a grey-green slope of lichen-crusted rock. Beyond the last fall-off, a black bear
pulls open the stump of a loblolly pine, pushing its face into the sundered rot. Holding my breath I hear— first— the air at rest, then the wet bray of tongue against
wood. I wait, listening, until the stump is spread across a thick bed of uncrushed needles. Rising, the bear waddles west: a swift stream lies beyond the next rise, watering
a thorny knot of blackberries. After it passes from sight, I head east, south, down.
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