It was in this way,
She knew the tree
It was in this way.
Go ahead and believe
In what you will.
The path made
Is the one you chose.
It is in this way
That a life happens.
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry
Poetry of the People
The stump of the locust tree roared
When its body fell away from it
In the April wind before the land
Clocked its beat into her, the roar
Evident in the toothy spears of bark
Stalagmited from its edge, the hollow
Of age rifled by coon, snake and beetle. Continue reading “The Place Where We Used to Play”
I am the blackjack oak
with a 2nd set of leaves.
If I’m shorn of one
by chance or natural
I will produce the other. Continue reading “Stubborn”