Poems
by Bob
McAfee
Aftermath
Pa has been gone for three days, the witch of rain marauding
the valley so strong I daren’t set foot out to find him. Moody
since last year when Ma passed, he walks the high line along
the crests, never seems at home in his cottage, more than once
telling me he wished that he would meet a bear up on Carter’s Knob.
Finally, the rain lowers to slow drizzle. I take my Winchester
and a three-day pack, set out along Mobley’s Trail, leading
up the scarpment where I know he loves to hike. Path is well-marked
but four hours in, the forest begins to thin, glimpses of sunlight
angling through the conifers to paint splotches on the rutted ground
and suddenly the shape of a cabin blooms in the distance. Approaching
the front door, solid but slightly ajar, I call out even though I know
no one has lived there for years. As I push open the heavy wood,
grudgingly yielding, I am assailed by the smell of fresh-baked bread
which quickly evaporates into the odors of must and decay.
I scan the room. An old wood-burning stove lurks, atop
which sits a rusty coffee pot. In front of the large fireplace, filled
with layers of burnt ash, a very comfortable-looking rocking chair
invites me to take my seat. Someone has left an ancient pile of firewood
in one corner. A rough table stands next to a raised bed with horizontal
slats holding a burlapped palette upon which lies a stack of clothing.
Against the side of the fireplace, I notice Pa’s burl-tipped walking stick,
heavy enough to shillelagh a man or a wolf, and always in the hand
of my Pa. Sprinting to the bed, I see Pa’s old Stetson sitting atop
his neatly-piled jeans and jacket, shirt, socks, even his long johns and boots,
all lovingly arranged and I quickly realize something very bad has happened.
Since his clothes are all on the bed, I doubt he has left this room alive.
It can’t be an animal or the clothes would not be folded. Has a human
killed him and folded the clothes or has he lost his mind and run off
naked into the rain so cold he would surely now be dead of hypothermia?
Where is the body? I look out the door as the sun re-emerges from the clouds
but all I can see is an old bear at the edge of the trees, regarding me with interest
for a tantalizing few seconds before turning and disappearing into the forest.
Into the Forest
One day I venture alone
into the forest
o my naked fear my empty mind
I remove a thorn
from the paw of the great cat
how she roars her gratitude
brings the wind
to ruffle my tawny mane
how deep my changing voice becomes
I free a red fox vixen
from the jaws of a trap
how she teaches me
to smell danger on the breeze
my whiskers to twitch
how she fills my mind
I can speak to every creature
of the forest
in its own tongue
As I approach the river
I see a maiden with injured foot
struggling
to escape a giant crocodile
I threaten the
great beast with my throaty growl
speak to it in its own language
“get back to the river for you
are no match for man, lion, and fox”
the crocodile
skedaddles
down to his wallow in the water
a great love descends upon me
as I bind the foot of the maiden
carry her tenderly back to her village
Jamie
The evening sun is setting
shimmering and bleeding
I’ve walked the beach for hours
I’m fading like the daylight
in the dusk I see a shanty
you are sitting in the doorway
gazing at the ocean
like waiting for tomorrow
a sudden rain starts falling
I look around for shelter
you holler out “Hey, Johnny”
motion toward your doorway
I join you at the shanty
I’m grateful for the kindness
I say my name’s not Johnny
you say it doesn’t matter
we weather out the rainstorm
while I hope it’s never ending
we sit there in the doorway
the waves are getting restless
the sky fills up with thunder
temperature grows colder
you take my hand and hold it
to your face without explaining
the rain goes on forever
we sit there in the silence
till the storm has lost its fury
the beach is deathly quiet
you motion toward the doorway
I know I should be leaving
we’re standing in the moonlight
your face is bathed in magic
I want so much to stay there
so much I want to hold you
but I fear the night’s illusion
I turn and lose the moment
I head out along the shoreline
for I need to travel solo
I hear you call “Hey, Johnny”
and I pause for just an instant
then I turn and you are sitting
in the doorway of the shanty
gazing at the ocean
like waiting for tomorrow.
