We scampered past the backyard oak, dripping morning mist <br />On me, my friend, and a rusted chicken coop. <br />Fluffy wagged his puppy-short tail, turned from the backdoor cats... <br />Snuffed along our trail. <br /> <br />Canefield dirt, hard with a late, night frost. Spiderwebs caught our <br />Hair...walking between rows of sweet stalks. <br />Goldenrods deepened with the sun. <br />Quail startled from cow pasture weeds. Glided yellow-breasted, <br />Settled again. Cattle chewed, watched us ghost into dark <br />Woods...trails of spiral black-jack vines, hurricane-twisted <br />Cypress trees. <br /> <br />Blackbirds cawed our passing. Owls swept to higher branches. <br />Autumn-gaunt spiders clung to wing-hung webs...hoped for a <br />Late-year mosquito hawk. <br />We jumped from tree-island to island...reached a bayou, sat on a willow bough <br />Over the water. <br /> <br />Garfish, finning silted rays, snapped at water bugs in <br />Rushes. White cranes nuzzled in shallows...flapped slow-motion to <br />Vanish at bayou's bend. <br />The swamp began darkening, shadows lengthening, in Autumn's way. <br />Light went it's own path... it's own reasons. <br /> <br />We memorized dark waters...star-deep, wing-rippled. <br />Kingfisher on an ancient cypress. <br />Said goodbye, silently. Retraced our path through the swamp... <br />Vine-hung, evening-livened swamp. <br />Shivered in the evening chill. <br /> <br />Remembered the hot, crab claw gumbo, stuffed bell peppers <br />On Mrs. Girior's stove. <br />The backyard oak stood black in dusk. <br />Scads of cats barricaded the supper door. <br />Morning glories hung on the shambled wash shed... <br />Cicadas hummed as the <br />Kitchen lights went on.<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swamp-memories-of-adult-children/
