gary anderson

One of Those Days

I sit
on the cow,
push the barn door open
with one foot,
nothing to grasp — hope
to make it through
barn yard muck —
to land softly in
bunchgrass
and
buttercups.

But then,
little goes right
down on the farm.

Old Growth

I follow a trail
down the ridge
in fading light.
There’s nothing but
open space
under these hemlocks.

I remember Grandpa’s
story about crossing
on this path,
Seal River to
Deep River
in the moonlight;
how he returned at dawn,
finding cougar tracks
in his boot prints.

I stop,
feel an adrenaline rush,
quill-hairs rise
on the back of my neck

I clap my hands,
rattle the backpack,
sing a hiking song.

Nothing but space —
even I know that.

Gary V. Anderson started writing late in life – very late.  He is amazed at the clarity of long ago remembrances and boyhood experiences.  He is a leader of Finnish-American spokenword festivals in the Northwest.  Gary has published one chapbook with another on the way.  You can see some of his work and reviews atwww.garyandersonpoetry.com.