Sister, Leave the Dust and Bring Down the Pines by Benjamin Walls
When I hear the owls
hoot hooo-hooo,
the mournful breathing in the pines,
I feel the aged wood I
washed for weeks smooth, bare, stained
red like Your canyons.
I know the fireflies would swarm you in light,
the owls would hop down to nearer branches,
and the magnolias would rustle little notes between the oaks,
that they've seen this, and it is the same,
but never dust.
Benjamin Walls graduated with a double BA in English and History from a small college in Hattiesburg, MS. He has written poetry and prose for many years, and has recently begun sending his work out for publication. He has been a reader and assistant to several MFA candidates. He is a poetry reader for cahoodaloodaling.
When I hear the owls
hoot hooo-hooo,
the mournful breathing in the pines,
I feel the aged wood I
washed for weeks smooth, bare, stained
red like Your canyons.
I know the fireflies would swarm you in light,
the owls would hop down to nearer branches,
and the magnolias would rustle little notes between the oaks,
that they've seen this, and it is the same,
but never dust.
Benjamin Walls graduated with a double BA in English and History from a small college in Hattiesburg, MS. He has written poetry and prose for many years, and has recently begun sending his work out for publication. He has been a reader and assistant to several MFA candidates. He is a poetry reader for cahoodaloodaling.
