Child of the mountain, bare feet treading soft moss
dusty paths, you listen for your mother's voice
calling suppertime across the pinetops, pintos with ham,
warm rolls, and the juiciest peach slump of the summer.
In the morning, strong coffee in a rosebloom cup,
grandmother feeding you wisdom from a mismatched spoon.
Out again into the hills for cold creek wading,
copperhead awareness among the rocks and rhododendron.
Under a blue dome your sister dances beneath a willow,
wind moving the green-lit branches.
Fetterless and fearless, friends on a tire swing
propel out over a brown river, hollers ringing the oxbow,
burnished boy rising out of ripples 'round your heart.
Long shadows chill sunny girls atop a palisade,
bunching rumpled coverlets to take home to pin on a line.
Dusk fingers evening frets, fireflies winking,
intermittent stars illuminating the trees.
-Donna Isaac
published by AvantAppal(achia), Dec. 2021
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