Published on: 9/25/2014
Feast of the Crows
Silent crows linger at the forest edge
in the sheltering trees near Gitche Gumee
for an end to thumping rain.
As rainbow forms
will wing to wormy feasts.
From my rain spotted porch
I'll view tableaux,
watch for snatching beaks
which would tear
my gazing eyes from sockets,
then caw for foragers
to pillage bony hollows.
Published on: 9/22/2014
Rain finally stops after two dreary days.
Megan dashes out the door
squishes dark mud between her toes
squashes a skeeter sucking on her arm.
She follows the twisty path uphill to Sloan's Pond
North wind breezing on her thighs
Her great toe stubs on a stone's smooth edge.
It's a skipper. She doesn't find many up here anymore.
She's skipped most to the bottom of the pond.
Squatting by the water's edge
Megan carefully washes the smoothness free of mud
dries the stone on her gingham dress
stores the prize in the fork of her favorite pine.
She figures in two days when the pond water stills
she'll skip the stone clear across the pond.
She'll beat her old ten skip record.
Get twelve from this stone, sure as sin.
Her Mama says pond water ain't fit for people drinking
or swimming neither cause they'd get water in their lungs
but Megan knows wouldn't hurt none,
as long as she keeps her mouth tight shut,
to explore along the bottom one day
and find herself a few sunk skipping stones.
Couldn't hurt none at all.