summer before college
with days on the farm
sprawled out
across hay fields
and heat,
languorous
dripping with time
and an old book
taken idly down
from the case
in the front room
Eugene Gant and
his ruined family
violent, voracious
through long days
and warm nights
I read about wildness
coming of age
with death the constant
ticking theme
my bedroom with its yellow walls
and open windows
crickets and night sounds
a moth captured
by the bedside light
smells rolling in
cut grass and dusty corn
filled with words
written by a man from his
need to be known
and I read,
waiting for my life to begin
wanting to leave
this liminal place
and there was Wolfe,
desperate
to get home.