Jackamiah’s Pond

  When the night is full of mist and shooting stars abound, the oaks begin their slow descent to Jackamiah’s Pond.   They drink their fill and wash their leaves, then beckon to the moss who line up at the water’s edge and watch the Pathway’s Cross.   At three past twelve the moon aligns…

Three

Swing me high, swing me low. Your strong, warm hands launch me floor-to-ceiling. Past your white work shirt, 5:30 fatigue, and heartfelt laughter. Your mom, my mom, and me. Three generations gather in the Zenith raspberry patch. Aprons, sky-high canes, and ruby-tipped fingers. Bulging bowls bubble and burp. Stirring and steam settles and waits to…

Jackamiah’s Pond

When the night is full of mist and shooting stars abound, the oaks begin their slow descent to Jackamiah’s Pond.   They drink their fill and wash their leaves, then beckon to the moss who line up at the water’s edge and watch the Pathway’s Cross. At three past twelve the moon aligns and shines…