red and green against the snow— Merry fucking Christmas
Author: Dave Bonta
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.
Thanksgiving day
nothing but the sound of the wind hissing in the weeds
black walnut hulls
their stains leak in thin tendrils down the face of the wall
shelf fungi on a stump
even with these special seats squirrels still make a mess
locust leafminers
now the leaves get more of the sky than just sunlight
fog at first light
pale clumps of mountain laurel light our way
gaywings
slumming it in the leaf duff still looks fabulous
new hepatica leaves
fine hairs stirring from the photographer’s breath
fallen hornets’ nest
I take a break from organizing my files
dead milk cow
transported to the mountaintop food for eagles
ice rings
as if some logger felled a tree of ice
old railroad trestle
shoes dangle by their laces where we used to climb
