Smokey Mountain Symphony
He sings from ancient mountains
where I spread his dust,
where I carried him, flaked,
from cemented land to paradise,
to rest beneath the turquoise plumage
of buntings and sky, the night cries
of red wolves and Tennessee heaven.
He was small on my lap,
but when I opened the urn
the wind lifted the ashes
and his throat, sprinkled him
across the wilderness, and
he was god again,
resurrected in his first and final home,
the place of blue smoke where
he walks young once more, barefoot
with salamanders, bleeds red
into the roots of spruces.
I hear you, my father,
in the aria of fir trees and flame azaleas
as they bend in breezes, in ballads
of Carolina mud and moonshine,
in the steel of railroads and hard rain,
in carols from campfires. I feel you,
in the cutting strings of your Gibson
as they purple and callous my fingertips,
in dark clogs of blackberries
that stained your boy lips blue
and block the paths of your wide grave,
in the flurry of wildflowers, picked
for her pretty eyes, that garnished
my mother's hair. I can sense
your tongue, your breath,
in the vapor that glazes the breathing
peaks, licks the oily residue of forest air
that coats this valley of the Cherokees,
in the integrity of red men who walked
in your aching words and in these woods
where you sing and sleep.
A Trespass of Radiance
I have seen shadows shifting
through the blurry center of night.
Squinting, I know they are there, bright
inside the moonbands that softly wrap
their edges. And I have heard
darkness ache with their nightmares.
I have listened, lacking the courage
to sing of wounds that leave them stricken
and white. So often in my safe bed,
worried by the tiny rages of day, its petty
holocausts, I have reached out to touch
their light, not understanding that midnight
is a deep, dark thing, or that privacy
bolts and braces their beacon.
Patrick Carrington
A native of New York City, Patrick Carrington teaches literature and creative writing in southern New Jersey, and is the poetry editor of the art & literary journal Mannequin Envy. He lives on a secluded beach with his wife. They have a son and boatload of daughters who keep life more than interesting.
His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous print journals, including Confrontation Magazine, River Oak Review, Epicenter, Lullaby Hearse, Bardsong Journal, Clark Street Review, Wavelength, Devil Blossoms, Caveat Lector, Red Rock Review and Willard & Maple, and on-line at The DMQ Review, Pedestal Magazine, Eclectica, Adagio Verse Quarterly, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, 3rd Muse, Facets Magazine, Carnelian, Word Riot, Ghoti Magazine, JMWW, Thieves Jargon, Zygote in My Coffee and others.
