In the mountain not on it

Embedded as the bloodroot

Deep  dependent

Betting its short life

On what is beyond itself

He and his dog


Coffee cup in hand

Never washed

Not in thirty years

Purposeful neglect heavy

With sludge

Deep and intact

His cabin


The warp and woof

Of planks held together

By tension pressing each other

Immutable transversed ties

That conquer weight and wind

The mainstay one single piece of wood


When he died

He was not placed into the ground

But into a planked coffin

Sturdy and fallible

So he would not go too quickly

But rather melt

Slowly back into earth



Photo Credit: Jean Cassidy 2019

asheville writers, poetry, wnc writer, women writers


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