Shale Hill

this shortcut lies beyond
the mucky black water,
once the way to the victory gardens
when legs still held energy
didn’t grow too heavy to climb
over the flat uncertain rocks
which could tip and shift
instantly,
to get to another path
which wanders between the
pines where the owls roost
calling out messages of gloom–
youth refuses to believe in
collapsed balloons,
will only accept ritz crackers,
rocky road ice cream and
soft, oven warm, crusty bread.
a creek gurgles near the pig sty
where fatness indicates days of
satiated wealth accumulated from
an abundance of collard greens and
citrons that mimic small watermelons
but are inedible except for hogs.
the rhode island red rooster
chases the clucking, white leghorn hens,
and we took for granted the abundance
of snow-white eggs, never imagined
someday the nests would
lie forgotten,
dusty and emptied of their gifts

–Joyce Metzger