Joan Peronto

5.1.12.TW

The day Japan surrendered.
 
Birds had cleaned the blackberries,
 
leaving a wiry tangle at the bottom of the cliff.
 
In the hedges, clouded sulphurs
 
floated near blue chicory and goldenrod.
 
Sunburned from the cornfields,
 
fired with the news on the old Philco,
 
we crammed Leeanne’s  jalopy
 
and bounced down country roads
 
toward the abandoned and forbidden quarry,
 
where ten years ago, Danny Rogers died,
 
diving off the rocks.
 
Green water stung our sunburns,
 
drew us down into stone dwellings,
 
made us drifting shadows.
 
 
 
Laughter, danger,
 
prick of icy water, heat of stones.
 
The sun sang in the willows,
 
afternoon went on and on.
 

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