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Going Home—: The Road to Paint Lick

Going Home—: The Road to Paint Lick Going Home-- The Road to Paint Lick The huge white steer at the fence Stares at me like a flabby Buddha His rump and thigh muscles Bulging and I have A sudden urge to stroke The thick flap of his Adam's apple What would his flesh be like Against my skin? And in the next field Three stallions gallop They take off their sleek bodies Brown and glistening in the sun A yellow brown haze rises And I wonder what it would be like If I pressed my second finger down Against the thin place Between their eyes? Would they wince? Or nuzzle against my skin? The road winds toward home And feathery almond green leaves Shimmer in the wind Like thin shards of glass A knot tightens in my throat I ask for words I know There once were words In the hollows of my heart On my lips I often spoke them In the quiet open spaces where My flesh touched the world --Jan Zlotnik Schmidt http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Going Home—: The Road to Paint Lick

Schmidt, Jan Zlotnik.
Appalachian Review , Volume 29 (4) – Jan 8, 2001
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
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Abstract

Going Home-- The Road to Paint Lick The huge white steer at the fence Stares at me like a flabby Buddha His rump and thigh muscles Bulging and I have A sudden urge to stroke The thick flap of his Adam's apple What would his flesh be like Against my skin? And in the next field Three stallions gallop They take off their sleek bodies Brown and glistening in the sun A yellow brown haze rises And I wonder what it would be like If I pressed my second finger down Against the thin place Between their eyes? Would they wince? Or nuzzle against my skin? The road winds toward home And feathery almond green leaves Shimmer in the wind Like thin shards of glass A knot tightens in my throat I ask for words I know There once were words In the hollows of my heart On my lips I often spoke them In the quiet open spaces where My flesh touched the world --Jan Zlotnik Schmidt

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2001

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