Where I Come From
by Tasha Cotter
After George Ella Lyon
I come from hunting seasons
and hybrid bass. High school
boys chewing tobacco in the halls.
Kilts and silks and my mother’s wedding
dress. A symphonic band and two
rows of clarinets. Sinking creeks
and glittering crawdads. Angus
beef and brown miniature
ponies. I’m from Butch and Bonnie;
black labradors and tiny terriers.
I’m from card tables and drive-thru
windows. I’m from Nickelodeon
and Looney Tunes. I’m from Sunday
afternoon baloney sandwiches
and summer bonfires beside the pond.
I’m from sinkholes and paintball guns.
The best horse who wouldn’t be tamed.
What I don’t know, I pay for. I come from
falling off and getting back on.
The City
by Tasha Cotter
If I had to define desire lines, it would start with inspiration
pounding our hearts open. What do you keep of the white
space, knowing the rest will be sent away? Of all the paths built
around your life, the city and its web of sidewalks, all shades
of green and gray, the million-mile embrace of the roads
across the globe, you chose a cut-through to coffee; A short-cut
that made a forbidden track. I praise these parades of life. How the cows,
too, are on the lookout for better paths to their favorite ponds.
In their own way, they must surely be asking, what makes the most sense?
We’re a holy cohort of believers, needing the new, and we don’t need
to be told the long way is a better way when we found the way ourselves.
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