Early Snow At Cooper’s Farm

Poem Early Snow At Cooper’s Farm Snow drops from the fanned branches of a pine, The flowering cones asleep in ice. A white-tailed deer backs into the shadows. I remember fields like this: christened with the tracks of beaver and winter fox, my father riding...

Mourning Dove

Poem   Mourning Dove There is a faint cooing, then the silence that comes with new snow and dusk. Buried in the hedgerow, where the moss and dead leaves smell faintly of earth, there is an unmistakable warmth. I know this, without ever splitting the iced leaves...

Salmon Fishing

Poem   Salmon Fishing She says she has nightmares about the killing, then clubs a fluttering ghost of silver until it no longer moves. It is early morning, just before sunrise, as she threads herself between the miles of line coming up from the bottom. The sky is...

Sheffield Steel

Poem   Sheffield Steel We are sitting in my mother’s kitchen, drinking coffee and talking about nothing. she shows me a box of knives, the long blades reflecting her face, the pale colour of her eyes not mine at all. She begins to tell me her story, and I...

Wild Pumpkin

Poem   Wild Pumpkin There is a place I have never liked: Jo Davis county, with its John Deere tractors and three a.m. families, dirty for life, and the Saguenay Valley, where French rings from young mouths, and every family has the history of trappers. I come...

Years Between Rivers With My Father

Poem   Years Between Rivers With My Father I have seen fog like this before; the first time we sailed the Alabama River, with its slow, aching curves. Lost, groping for days through southern steam. This night, frail sounds die on shore, and we are left with our...