Poems by New Yorkers posting from the Long Trail / Appalachian in Vermont.
Little Rock Shelter, August 12th, 2014
SouthBound was one of the three human puppies at Little Rock Shelter. Some of the thru-hikers we met were brooding and goal-oriented. These three were still having fun. SouthBound, who was often yelling “Skippyyyy,” lives in Brooklyn like me. Buzz-cut mohawk was via someone who gives shelter to hikers. He’s taking a break from school, from his major in math, thinking about sociology. I suggested writing. My hiking buddy and I got into a big argument about the liberal arts. You know which side I’m on. This poem blew me away.
She combs her hair with bleach each morning
Drowning in a broken, swollen,
tangle of white-glazed twisted knots
And thinking twisted, tangled thoughts.
Drops burn and leave festered holes
punctured floor left yearning (closed)
and she watches as the play unravels
burning self-portraits of Rose.
He left with morphine drenched on bone
She couldn’t help to watch, but laugh.
Mother left, without a warning,
To comb her hair with bleach in mourning.