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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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NATHAN A. BAKER
Fathers and Sons Down by the old Springfield mill Where waste water churned spume And local boys in summertime swam Bare-ass in the cold brown waters The two of us would walk, silence Caressing like an ineffective balm, Unable to sooth the roughness Or lessen the guilt fed friction That chaffed the space between us. Ideally there is a way things should be But reality gives you life… things The way they are… no questions. Some lessons are learned too late. I should have left my rags, Soiled with childhood’s memories, Beside that polluted creek And jumped in naked maybe then He too would have found his way. An Urn of Ashes All she had left was memories And an old clock, its walnut frame Smooth like time in its passing, Worn where edges once were crisp He left her when she was just a baby, Nearly a hatchling, still she longed For her daddy just as any girl would And at age of sagacity found him In a one-night pit stop and market Openly catering to appetites rare. Flesh being flesh and the human need Being strong as it is, she danced Every dance known before she ever Danced her first one with me. Tripping the full circle a time or two All the freaking way around Without ever stopping or taking The time to come up for air, but His presence in her life would not Have stopped her decline into the pit Her journey was long ago destined Set upon by the course of the wind Fences We crossed That border Together Tearing down fences Long standing Love in retrospect Would not have removed The rusty barbwire Surrounding my heart Or cut its flesh So deeply Nathan is a carpenter/poet living in the mountains of Tennessee. His poetry has appeared at Red River Review, Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, Lily, Underground Window, Zafusy, and Blue House. |
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© 2008 Underground Voices |
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