Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo

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That Way of Listening

She could hear it strong,
flying over the April
melt mud still continuing
now to well up. Odors
of stone bathed the stream
bank. And really, it resembled
the fish in fairy tales
when you’re out of
bait: rising to the surface,
feeding close enough to touch.
Things were no different where
she took the island ferry.
Soft on the air drifted
this low song, and a sharp
burning of whiskey,
straight whiskey beneath
the unwitting tongue there,
exactly in the place
she would find it. She always
could taste it, usually
without meaning to. By day
unexpected clouds rolled in,
sending wide, grey shadows
spilling over the hills.
She danced, danced, until
she could feel who
the creek was calling as
it came rushing over
the ice-shattered boulders,
flinging so high into
the air that bright spray
of fresh and boundless energy.

(trace poem of “That Time of Year,” by Leon Stokesbury, http://poems.com/poem.php?date=17039)