Meta-Foray* at Character’s Corner
March 7, 2017
The basket that she puts before me
Gives off memory of county fairs.
Deep fried things all smell the same no matter where you are.
“What are we drinking?” she inquires.
“An IPA on tap,” I say.
Our beers are named for rivers and for fish.
They taste of Douglas Fir and goodness
And of all the life that comes from forest floors.
“Des Chutes?” she asks.
I pass as one of them,
In cap, and fries with catsup, and a pint to cheer
On such a rainy day.
I listen as the people tell their tales.
*Thanks to Robin Wall Kimmerer for the term.
March 2, 2017
Early, just before dawn?
Hard to tell in that deep dense winter sky.
Still winter for this year it stretches on in grey and variations on that theme.
That it was early,
I was certain.
Bare trees’ black, outlines of their leafless selves just visible.
And far beyond them
I heard geese.
Hard to guess if they were heading south or north or anywhere at all.
I saw no shadows—nothing of their shapes.