Saturday, December 27, 2014


Fiddleneck in House Pits near Pounding Stone

Throwing a pine cone at my brother, 
I reeled through brittle needles to hide
behind a short, flat stone in the middle
of the forest:  I was the cowboy 

and he was the Indian. As I jumped up 
to toss a dirt clod, I saw smooth cups
brimming with humus in the stone
Standing transfixed as he charged,  “Stop!”

I yelled, as he pelted me with pebbles.
“You’re dead!” he shouted, “Told you--
I’m the cowboy!” Dizzy, I felt 
I was about to remember something,

Pestles in Pounding Stone

falling into some other life that I once 
had known. “Boys!” Dad shouted, “Time 
to go to the lake!” But I couldn’t move
from the stone in the middle of the woods. 

Finally, Dad ambled over. “What 
is this?” I asked. “Mud people 
lived here,” he sneered. “Let’s go!”
“Where are the mud people? Where

did they go?” I wondered aloud, but he
didn’t answer. For a moment I
was afraid, as he walked farther
and farther ahead of me, that I

could be like one of the mud people
who had vanished, so I paused,
alone between the strange stone
and the tiny boat by the shore.

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