The Skeleton

in the Dogwood

 

Ron Rash

Watauga County, 1895

 

Two lovers out walking found

more than spring’s promised blessing

on new beginnings hanging

in a dogwood tree’s branches.

 

No friend or kin claimed those bones.

The high sheriff came. Foul play

he was sure, but how or why

he found no answers, so stayed

 

to help break the ground, help haul

a flat rock out of the creek,

sprinkle some dirt, some God words,

then left for more recent crimes.

 

The lovers wed that winter.

On their marriage night they dreamed

of bouquets of spring flowers

blooming in a dead man’s hand.

 

Winter Lightning

 

Ron Rash

When lightning struck the big oak, cracked

and splintered Curt’s deer stand, he ignored

the old hunters back at camp

who spoke of winter lightning as if more

than natural and swore it best

seen as a sign more ominous

than an owl at noon. The oak was now cursed,

bad enough to touch it, much less

spend time perched high in its limbs.

Curt rebuilt his stand the next morning

and stayed up there despite the warning,

until he fell and broke his neck.

The man who found him closed his eyes,

then left to notify his kin.

An accident, some said, although

none climbed the tree to fetch his gun.

 

Animal Hides

 

Ron Rash

As if in flight they ascend

on barn-back, shed-side: bobcat

and fox, raccoon and black bear,

limbs splayed as if gliding on

wind-lift as coats dry and tan

to become somehow more than

brag of well-hid trap, true aim,

a poor man’s taxidermy—

for they remain when weathered

into fur-scrap, pelt-shadow

ghosting across graying boards,

as though their death-hurriers

kenned animal once meant soul,

like those first hunters believe

some essence may yet linger,

must be earth-freed, giving wing.