when
we closed the root cellar door we
knew we wouldn't be back
we
left the yams, beets, and greens obscured
in the dark
and
an assortment of fruits and
pickled vegetables visceral
in glass jars
you
said the sod roof will
eventually break through and
the root cellar will rot hidden
in thickets of chaparral
a
perfect den for rabbit or snake
when
we walked away the
scent of sage and juniper sweetened
the air
our
hands held emptiness like
an amulet
and
the dust no
matter how lightly we stepped rose
like smoke from the path
Michael Spring is the author of three
poetry collections: blue crow (2003), Mudsong (2005), and Root
of Lightning (2011). His poems have appeared in numerous publications,
including The Atlanta Review, DMQ Review, The Dublin Quarterly,
Gavea-Brown, The Midwest Quarterly, NEO, and The Oregonian.
Michael lives in O'Brien, Oregon. He is currently a natural builder, a
martial art instructor, and a poetry editor for The Pedestal Magazine.
