3.07.2008

Roanoke Island, 1590



after John White

Virginia dear, I would be,
I am, lost
without you.
In the dark heart of the forest I listen
for laughter, footsteps, hoofbeats, all
like pattering rain but no leaf stirs.

I turned with the full breath of God
in my sails, and becalmed in the glitter
of gunpowder and silk perfume.
Your tiny hands, scrubbed with dirt and dried
with twigs, vanished from me
with my promises.

Only the tree bark will answer me now,
in a papery tongue with no words.
The shadows expand to swallow me.
Every last man has gone, but it is you alone
who has left me.

2 comments:

P said...

Transporting...

Kate Horowitz said...

p: I've wanted to write this story for a while and I think this is one angle that might work. On the other hand, the whole spooky business is probably a whole book's worth of poetry. I loves me some folklore.

(Thanks!)


 photo copyright.jpg
envye template.