by Teri Browning
Changing of the Guard
A gobbler graces the table,
home-raised, hand-slaughtered,
perched dead fashion beside green beans,
home-grown, hand-picked, canned
for just such an occasion.
Cornbread will be done soon.
For the wait, we grab a beer
head to the wrap-around porch
still shaded on one side by elephant ears,
on the other by pines, a mountainside
subtly changing, slowly shrinking.
This is the first holiday without Mammaw,
last one was the first without Aunt Mae,
Next year could be Kroger bird, packaged rolls,
perhaps no gathering, forgotten ways.
Only Momma is left, then there's me,
ill-equipped for a changing of the guard.
Chiaroscuro for KY Miner
Lights on.
A bare-bulb glow
highlights the plant
on coffee stand
in living room
With charcoal dust
it's hard to know
what's live or dead
Then partway down
light beam strikes skin
a minstrel show
white man turned pitch
but that's not all
Eyes follow light
to hardwood floor
where cracks are wide
and trap jet soil
from miner's boots
See fossil fuels
in gloaming holes
and cracks in floor
like miner's pores
both filled with dredge
Lights out.
Mam Knew
Mam, of the fried dandelions
and rose-bush magic touch,
caught rainwater in huge barrels
for tin-tub baths,
let me go first of three
cause she knew how cold the water got.
Traded 10 dollars in foodstamps
for 3 gallons of gas the year I broke my arm.
Held me while it was casted.
Forgave me when I stoned the cousins
for dirtying the brightest white I'd ever seen.
Mam knew why I cried.
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A Country Rag