The Foxfire Books: In Case of Emergency, Learn to Make Glass, and: Knoxville, 1979
Rent from DeepDyve- The Foxfire Books: In Case of Emergency, Learn to Make Glass, and: Knoxville, 1979
The Foxfire Books: In Case of Emergency, Learn to Make Glass
I remember burying acorns in the ground.Nuclear bombs built next door hovered over uslike sinister black hives. It seemed naturalthat every day might be my last. Nevertheless,there were violets to pick from the mossby the oaks, there were dogs and horsesto stretch out next to, strawberries to be gatheredand smothered with sugar. Each long sunbeamhad its own message from God, I was sure,hiding amidst the dust motes. I learned the namesof crawling creatures trapped, petrified,in limestone rocks. I crawled inside abandonedbear caves for shelter, and tried to quiet my feeton the forest floor. In case of poisoning, eat this.In case of war, hide underground. I learnedto purify water, named edible leaves,in case, in case, in case. It seemed as if the treesthemselves were letting in the light for me,as if I might lead people to safety. I rememberfolding white sheets next to a Geiger counter.Oil reserves burning up, it was the seventies,my grandparents sent books of Appalachian ritualslike sassafras tea, planting peas by the moon,sewing up the land. It seemed natural, then,that our woods would grow glowing mushrooms,that it was the fire of foxes, and we believed it could be appeased. [End Page 94]
Knoxville, 1979
It is late spring, I am on my kneespulling peanuts out of the red dirt.I shake the thin fibrous stalks,like spider webs, and when I put themin my mouth they taste like metal.I like the scrape of them against my teeth.
The hum of the lawn mowergrows louder in the afternoon.My father puts me on his lapand lets me drive it. Sometimeswhen my parents aren't watchingI eat the grass too, like I am a horseor lawn mower. The grasstastes green and snaps like onion.
We retreat from the rainthat soaks the clay ground at sundown.We boil the peanuts and rhubarb.The steam fills the kitchenwith tart, salt scents.
Those peanuts, with their frayed rootsholding loosely to the hostile soilthat yields rust, rust,with threads so close to breaking. [End Page 95]
Jeannine Hall Gailey is the author of Becoming the Villainess, published by Steel Toe Books. Her poems have been featured on NPR's The Writer's Almanac and Verse Daily. Her new book, She Returns to the Floating World, is forthcoming from Kitsune Books in fall 2011.
