Scott's Creek: Age Twelve

Scott's Creek: Age Twelve Rain crow pastes on the silence his weather report. Smelling oil and fin and Nehi grape you cast your spitted minnow from the planks that ride on oil drums in the slick backwater. You buy sodas and oatmeal cakes. The rain crow buys your doubts to wash down his gullet his dry prophecies. The water thickens in July. The crappies never seem to die. The catch is poor. When boats pass and scoop waves of water, the oil drums belch and your minnow dances but no bluegill, not even carp join in. Rain crow says don't stare too long at water in sunstroke weather. Night shushes the rain crow. Lamps hung low ignite the eyes of fish and minnow's corpse light. Lamps ignite the path to the Chevy, thick-hide beast of burden and the lamps go out. Smells of old comfort let go and fold back into the rising country dark. Drowned in the rain crow's imagined flood you let go and sleep and home reel you in. -Carol L. Edwards Often Before Evening Often before evening a weight drops over you. Is it, do you think, the summer? Jarflies unburrow, and whine. Wings of pity or maddening sadness beat and settle over you. Children late in their games jump hot pepper and say, Many sons had father Abraham. Father Abraham had many sons. I am one and so are you. Made blue by streetlamps, they refuse water: Enough of hoses! We have flying hair! We win at hot pepper! We please our fathers, being sons! Often before evening a new door appears beside the old. Is it, do you think, a trick of dusk? Boxwoods seem whitewashed, and with cupolas of beech houses. Wings drop like small weights or children far off singing. -Linda P. Burggraf 69 ...