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| Kathryn Kiker the biker in orange hat |
Relics
In the orange hat you hate I sit
on the beach of broken trees bordered
by rubble of a road that drove
too close to the sea. Today’s victims
of water’s whimsy are jellyfish baked
on dry sand. Death: past, present, and
future, as the eyes of so many birds track
my every move. You ask if I am afraid
as you leave me here alone. “Something in
the human psyche loves a ruin.” In the
final poses struck by twisted limbs reaching,
gasping for soil not sand, water not salt, and
in the crumble of man made stones in the
surf, I find strange comfort, and I am not
afraid: “The only thing to come now is the sea.”
(last line from Sylvia Plath’s Blackberrying)
kk, 5/21
*****
Ancestral Flavors by kk 5/21
Sing a song of land scent
A pocket full of plant
A people’s crop lament
What fragrance to decant?
Alabama cotton
vast fields of southern snow
brutal crop made rotten
landscape drenched in woe.
Sing a song of land scent
A pocket full of plant
A people’s crop lament
What fragrance to decant?
Nightshade of Tennessee
acres of emerald green
sacred to the Cherokee
pinched for nicotine.
Sing a song of land scent
A pocket full of plant
A people’s crop lament
What fragrance to decant?
Vinegar for old Bert
Thelma’s fresh sprig of mint
A dash and drip can’t hurt
Restore a youthful glint.
Sing a song of land scent
A pocket full of plant
A people’s crop lament
What fragrance to decant?
My ancestors perfume
essence of bitter flaws
digging down I exhume
binding history with gauze.
Sing a song of land scent
A pocket full of plant
A people’s crop lament
What fragrance to decant?
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