Against the grain of what any day could hold,

​        the back yard grows thick with cane 

and hawks wait on power lines along the horizon.

​        Just out of view, my sons chase each other

throwing oyster shells and laughing. My daughter

​        draws pictures on the driveway in blue chalk.

The moccasin we killed last summer 

​        coils near her in the shade. Inside,

my wife rattles pots out of the cabinet

​        for supper. She asks my mother something about

tomorrow. The sun drops and rises, drops

​        and rises. The hawks tuck beaks underwing.

The snake crawls off unnoticed. And the question

​        just hangs there in the sweet air.

jack bedell

Dream, in Open Chord

 

 

 

Jack B. Bedell is Professor of English and Coordinator of Creative Writing at Southeastern Louisiana University where he also edits Louisiana Literature and directs the Louisiana Literature Press. His latest collections are Elliptic (Yellow Flag Press, 2016), Revenant (Blue Horse Press, 2016), and Bone-Hollow, True: New & Selected Poems (Texas Review Press, 2013). He has recently been appointed by Governor John Bel Edwards to serve as Louisiana Poet Laureate 2017-2019. 

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