Oheka.
Watch
them, ‘round they go.
I straighten my legs
and lean back for the ride.
‘Tis always fun as they fly down the narrow road where we once walked.
(We
ran, too, and kissed leaning against the sweetgum,
your burnished fingers lifting me swiftly,
my
toes dripping clay from the creekbed.)
But, Oheka. The mountain of the Tutelo.
Full of
surprises for the sojourner.
As I said, quickly down the thin
lane
then whoosh
up
and around
and
down
then
up again
breaths held/breaths echoing down
dark green slides of
pine and bear and berry.
Watch
how the children laugh, eyes popping, a shine uncitylike.
Watch
her grab his hand as he tightens the grip on the wheel. His neck is a vein of
limestone now.
Their
grey soft pup in the far back, tongue out, head back and forth as they turn
and climb
and climb
again.
Off to
pick apples, to taste wine, to listen to the music of those who followed us.
A
melody, jarring a bit to the ears, but pleasant.
(Our songs were voices. You laid me gently on the yellow flowers
and hummed. The sun was setting over Oheka.
Deer stirred,
turkey
chased the locust. If my father heard us, he never said.
Your
bare feet led us now. I sat on you and dreamed, head back,
as
you whistled like the long brown bird.)
The car
stops, and the woman walks over to the old cemetery. She lays a wreath for
China Alice.
Grandmother.
They
move again, atop Oheka.
I take
many rides. I’ve held on to wagons as they climbed the dips. I’ve seen the
first autos,
mired
in red mud. Frustration in bowlers, then driving out. Buses and pickups, I’ve
ridden them all.
They
don’t see me, of course, ‘tho sometimes it seems a little one in the back,
with
pigtails as I had,
notices
a change in the air,
a sense
of good will,
a rope
through many seasons that touches her nose to mine, unseen.
Below,
the soft valley where we shared a long life.
We saw
war. But we were companions and lovers/I felt your heart and you mine
through
three generations then you stooped one day,
white
hair still thick,
fell
through the grasses.
I blew tiny kisses all over your quiet face, then covered you in
rushes.
Now, I
ride, and in my hidden pockets I carry you.
I feel
you quicken as the people climb. I see you walk through fall’s orange sun as
their glasses
tinkle
and their children play
and the woman and the
man touch as we touched
and
fall in arms at the river
As I
wait by the road for a ride back down.
Oheka.
~ Published in Artemis Journal 2018 ~
~ Published in Artemis Journal 2018 ~
