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Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere by Mark Edmonton Rooted in the seventh circle of Hell beside the still waters of the Nolichucky river, a green heron shivers, drops and plucks a sunfish clear from the shade of the bank. Dante walks among the suicides, listening, singing past all dialect the crystal sorrow of each self-inflicted wound. Deep inside the heart of this bitter forest my lover's heart wrests from the heron's grip to be caught by eager fingertips of crimson leaves: I am the Blackgum, I too have a story to tell. But Dante walks by, wringing his hands like a politician, chatting to the gentlemen of the Press, before mounting the bus for a whistle-stop tour of the Texas Panhandle, Bakersfield and Las Vegas. He is neither arborist nor from Tennessee. © Mark Edmonton « Home | Contributor Notes » |
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