I’m Obliged

I free a sapling ready to break,

bent by an old tree’s thud;

kick away sticks and mud

barring a pool from its creek.

My country upbringing

obliges me to hunker

down, with bare hands clear

November from a spring.

Here lives a woman who sets down

Milk, then chow in a pan,

then leaves the backdoor open 

after dark, at midnight, ‘til dawn.

-Valerie Nieman

(Originally published in Travelin’ Appalachians ‘zine)