Short Smokehouse Poems

I squint  just right
And capture a memory almost forgotten
Jars of fruit and honey fresh from hives
Filling shelves in old smokehouse
Home-made butter and molasses
In her kitchen
Waiting to smother
Biscuits warming
On black cast iron wood-stove
Boxes of buttons
An old cameo
Split wood in corner
Old sleepy dog on porch
The house on the hill
Where Mom's Granny rocked

16Feb14...

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October come with its

shades of orange 

September ends
Harvest 	moon

 once again

Soon

Silence in the			
Shushed 
Smokehouse

  Crackle of a hunters boot

Through the trees
Puffing and pumping

Mixed with clouds of hot air
A fawn and doe chase 

The wind lighter

Hillsides shadowed 
Red and brown 

A gunshot
Echoed in cool grey skies

Burnt to the lungs
Sound of birds 

leaving south

In time for tobacco
Dried Blood...

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She told us stories.
I remember the
 one were
she said that her 
great grand father
started a smokehouse
business were
he cured pork and
sold beef and turkeys
in the city and at
resturants.
She spoke of a recipe
for cheery and almond 
wine: distilled to be liquier.
She said the recipe was hidden in
the walls of
Sole Semete' in New Bristol.
She gave me the map and said she
belived their was silver and gold
in the chest full of valuables.
" Tresure of Baryon"....

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