Avery County
by Sarah Stickney
The evening before leaving
I shot Eric’s 12 gauge
out the back of his shack
into the flourishing green
of the big, June woods.
My first time with a gun—
there is no promise but lots
of intimacy like Ashbery says
of the sea. A buzzard slopes over
the highway. Who knew
this rural fix for east-coast neurosis
was waiting for me with its dogwoods,
its poor possum roadkill,
and the high, evening clouds
that bring shy wild turkeys
up the hillside. Hegel says
the wounds of the spirit heal,
and leave no scars. But time
is just like the rest of us
and wants more drinks
when it starts having drinks at the bar.
from the journal The Carolina Quarterly