—Poetry by Keith Hoerner, Southern Illinois
WHITE WASHING HISTORY AGAINST A
DARKENING AFTERNOON SKY
$10,000 down
Gets you in
Your choice of
Ranch or two-story
In prestigious Nooning Tree
“Is there one, a Nooning Tree?”
“Of course,” the saleslady answers
Loose strands of hair catching
The corner of her mouth
Like a lie
Tempered by talk of tradition
She motions; I follow
Slipping on the deceptively
Green sod
Outside her display home
She points, arm outstretched
Fingers fanning
In a ta-da moment
“There …
The Nooning Tree”
Under that very shade (weather permitting)
Noon meals were served
To plantation workers
Every day
Quaint, now, isn’t it?”
Yes, if
It were true
If *only* it were *true*
For a few of us
Still know fact from fiction
About this suburbanized
183-year-old black walnut
Its gnarled branches
Leafingthroughsecrets
Midday laughter filtered
Not
Through this centurion’s autumnal rush
Frenetic excitement hung thick in the air
Frozen families, slack-jawed gawkers, jeering
landlords *gathered*
On what is now
Premium
Lot 241 (backing to woods)
Where a barbarian’s buffet
Was laid
Bulging
Blood-shot eyes
Subtle smells of rope-
Burned flesh
Slaves *lynched* on the strike of *noon*
On a *tree*
On
A
Bountiful
S t r e t c h o f L a n d
DARKENING AFTERNOON SKY
$10,000 down
Gets you in
Your choice of
Ranch or two-story
In prestigious Nooning Tree
“Is there one, a Nooning Tree?”
“Of course,” the saleslady answers
Loose strands of hair catching
The corner of her mouth
Like a lie
Tempered by talk of tradition
She motions; I follow
Slipping on the deceptively
Green sod
Outside her display home
She points, arm outstretched
Fingers fanning
In a ta-da moment
“There …
The Nooning Tree”
Under that very shade (weather permitting)
Noon meals were served
To plantation workers
Every day
Quaint, now, isn’t it?”
Yes, if
It were true
If *only* it were *true*
For a few of us
Still know fact from fiction
About this suburbanized
183-year-old black walnut
Its gnarled branches
Leafingthroughsecrets
Midday laughter filtered
Not
Through this centurion’s autumnal rush
Frenetic excitement hung thick in the air
Frozen families, slack-jawed gawkers, jeering
landlords *gathered*
On what is now
Premium
Lot 241 (backing to woods)
Where a barbarian’s buffet
Was laid
Bulging
Blood-shot eyes
Subtle smells of rope-
Burned flesh
Slaves *lynched* on the strike of *noon*
On a *tree*
On
A
Bountiful
S t r e t c h o f L a n d
M. DUSA
Mother stands frozen
in my bedroom
doorway…
a block of stone:
arms splayed,
legs spread,
a barrier
to my
exit.
I cannot move her,
never could;
she’s as heavy
as her gaze
when she first
looked in on me.
So, I am left to
chip away at her,
like I did before
she was
transformed,
but literally now.
I yell, “Stop imprisoning me!”
She doesn’t answer;
she has been silenced.
Her face looks shocked,
accusatory,
wide-eyed.
My tresses flare
in a fighting response—
as though slithering about my head.
Then,
for the first time,
I hear the sound of hisses.
Mother stands frozen
in my bedroom
doorway…
a block of stone:
arms splayed,
legs spread,
a barrier
to my
exit.
I cannot move her,
never could;
she’s as heavy
as her gaze
when she first
looked in on me.
So, I am left to
chip away at her,
like I did before
she was
transformed,
but literally now.
I yell, “Stop imprisoning me!”
She doesn’t answer;
she has been silenced.
Her face looks shocked,
accusatory,
wide-eyed.
My tresses flare
in a fighting response—
as though slithering about my head.
Then,
for the first time,
I hear the sound of hisses.
Today’s LittleNip:
Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.
―Robert A. Heinlein, Have Space Suit—Will Travel
__________________
Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.
―Robert A. Heinlein, Have Space Suit—Will Travel
__________________
Published in 100+ lit mags across five continents, today’s newcomer to the Kitchen, Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA), is founding editor of the Webby Award-recognized Microfiction e-zine/print anthology: The Dribble Drabble Review. A Best of the Net nominee and the author of two books, Keith is also a Best Book and American Writing Award Finalist. He lives at the edge of the Shawnee National Forest in deep Southern Illinois. Welcome to the Kitchen, Keith, and don’t be a stranger!
Today we celebrate 100 Thousand Poets for Change (100tpc.org) plus events in Placerville and Camino, as well as a Zoom conversation with Connie Post and Janine Certo. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area.
And the Fall Equinox 2022 issue of Canary is available at canarylitmag.org/.
__________________
—Medusa
__________________
—Medusa
Girl Before Coffee
—Public Domain Photo
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
