Lauded I was, when I first stumbled out
of the woods.
For months I had been figured
But when they learned what I had
over the flames in a tin cup, I was
brought to trial.
When I dared recall the words of Christ,
an old man said, Ay Son, but that be symbol
and I shook my head. Are ye a Papist then?
he asked, scratching his ear, confused.
It was no use to bring up my neighbor
sitting there in the jury, though I admit
I was sore tempted to point at him and shout,
Has he not fed off his son’s flesh these last thirty years?
Him no less on the wheel for the bread in his mouth.
I ate in thankfulness.
I forced myself to chew slowly and with reverence,
which is more than some.
Keep a Journal
But don’t write stories.
Plot equals coffins.
She gave me the book
with clasp and key
and I dutifully wrote in
the names of young men
who grew up
and moved far away.
They bring their
children back to play
under the shade
of the apple trees,
and I lower my eyes
it never mattered.
About Jenn Blair:Jenn Blair is from Yakima, WA. Her chapbook "All Things are Ordered" is out from Finishing Line Press. She teaches at the University of Georgia.