Poem by Gary Every
I am stalking wild turkeys
trying to capture the perfect photograph,
a big tom
with bronze feathers and bright red comb
but the silly pudgy bird proves elusive.
I turn deeper into the forest
traveling further and further
between the trees,
giant trees towering high above my head.
Gobbling calls haunt me as I walk,
turkeys roosting in the treetops,
hidden in the shadows,
until I stumble upon
an old abandoned cabin
and just beyond that
a long-forgotten amphitheater.
the trees have been sacrificed,
sawed and planed to make boards
then nailed into benches
arranged in rows like church pews.
The little stage is made of stone
old geological bones
covered with moss and lichen,
a few rocks tumbled out of place.
How strange to stumble upon this location
while I am lost in the woods.
I consider myself a storyteller,
and stand on the stage,
words falling from my tongue
like newborn rain.
Gradually ghosts fill the pews,
a thousand faceless warriors
whispering dialogue of yesteryore
echoes of my hero’s tale,
while ahead and behind me the river