Dark limbs and gunshots and the baying,

the barking dogs.

Rain on leaves,

on the ground,

on me–

Twilight dark is deepest dark

those gunshots…

Inside is stinging smoke,

mounted heads proud,

and tobacco rims brown


and the gummy cackle out from red flannel.


A door slams behind me,

I run ‘cross chopped stub of a sienna field

On my neck

rain welcomes me back

clutching icy fingers.

~ A Charity Johnson © 2020