John Poch
Escape on the Sabinal
Like a river, we flashed and flooded to schools
toward some imagined paradise, as yearned
our own kinfolk who fled their parents’ rules.
We were exactly right to go! Those fools
can’t see—for us, back home is where the heartburn
is, was, where romance is a butter churn.
Humidity of the Texas Hill Country cruels
the summer days with sweat while winters earn
their solitude. Cold almost freezes, cools.
So girls became our toys and books our tools
at college. We learned to judge the jewel
God is, saw earth’s insides like Jules Verne
and Eden lost was not so bad. Adjourned,
we had traveled East!—But snow helped us discern
we missed the constant sun, the heat, affirmed
the good of cypress shade to rest our souls.
Too hot? Stay still until the evening fuels
a breeze. We know now we didn’t know, confirm
this thread might lead us to original pools
where we might lie among the spring-fed ferns
and watch for the orangest orchard orioles.
Our canyon loves; the city ridicules.
To fish, as well as fathom we’re food for a worm,
is to accept a river’s unconcern—
how it surrenders water molecules,
and rains, drifts, calms, distills, reflects, unspools.
We leave as soon as we can, only to learn
we spend our whole lives trying to return.
John Poch teaches in the creative writing program at Texas Tech University. His next book, TEXASES, is due out in February 2019.
Return to November 2018 Edition
Like a river, we flashed and flooded to schools
toward some imagined paradise, as yearned
our own kinfolk who fled their parents’ rules.
We were exactly right to go! Those fools
can’t see—for us, back home is where the heartburn
is, was, where romance is a butter churn.
Humidity of the Texas Hill Country cruels
the summer days with sweat while winters earn
their solitude. Cold almost freezes, cools.
So girls became our toys and books our tools
at college. We learned to judge the jewel
God is, saw earth’s insides like Jules Verne
and Eden lost was not so bad. Adjourned,
we had traveled East!—But snow helped us discern
we missed the constant sun, the heat, affirmed
the good of cypress shade to rest our souls.
Too hot? Stay still until the evening fuels
a breeze. We know now we didn’t know, confirm
this thread might lead us to original pools
where we might lie among the spring-fed ferns
and watch for the orangest orchard orioles.
Our canyon loves; the city ridicules.
To fish, as well as fathom we’re food for a worm,
is to accept a river’s unconcern—
how it surrenders water molecules,
and rains, drifts, calms, distills, reflects, unspools.
We leave as soon as we can, only to learn
we spend our whole lives trying to return.
John Poch teaches in the creative writing program at Texas Tech University. His next book, TEXASES, is due out in February 2019.
Return to November 2018 Edition