Cherry Lane, Lake Martin

There, a kudzu forest
Safeguarding the little house

Cabin old and wooden
And the lake is trying to climb the shore
Passing boats urge it in its try
But soon a quiet water lie

The screened porch
A liberating cage
Depending on how studious its occupants ascribe
And if the conversation is of interest and alive
The members of that club overlook
the pines and lake and boats, and thank
the Lord for tobacco leaves
And beauty, bold, apparent, seen
Perfume of cherry, latakia
And the spice of cigarettes
When she was still alive

When she was still alive, bringing comics by the stack
And sat out there, meditating on
each claw, each finger
on which to tack

And cans were shot, and shot a lot
And squirrels and firecrackers bought

And the child never thought
It’d all come to an end.

The many tails of fishes caught
And fairy yarns, a hundred wrought
And midnight hunts for toadies sought
And petty family fights were fought

But that’s okay
One day
We’ll love each other true
Until then, what do you say
We take out the canoe?

Hear again the loon’s lament
The speedboat’s sickly growl
And wander to a dock and squint
Upon the water’s cowl

Hidden and alive
And all are living still
Upon that far off isle
Where geese shed every quill
And aren’t so hard to chase away
To inspect their eggs
Among the golden mud we tramped
And walked on golden legs.