Cottonwood Hymn
by Kevin Heaton Kevin Heaton

Pushcart Prize nominee Kevin Heaton lives and writes in South Carolina. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in many publications, including Raleigh Review, Foundling Review, The Honey Land Review, and Mason's Road. His fourth chapbook, Chronicles, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in early 2012. He is a Best of the Net 2011 nominee.

Late August, eclipsed moon—
silk-screened lunar light
that leavens shewbread—
                                           peace.

It's not yet white at the graying
temples of summer. Short-timer
hoppers spit shine the tallgrass.

Fox Creek pants to a meandering
trickle through cracked mud—
all wandering souls call on angels.

Cicada come forth from glacial
tideland tombs in rusty suits of mail—
penitence for oversleeping.

Higher and higher they rise like baby
leatherbacks flailing sand for the sea—
grappling old-growth oak husks

for lofty choir seats. A hymn fords
the river like cottonwood snow—
                                     still waters.

There's a wink and a giggle near
the honeydew melons—porch songs—
                                       harmony.

The morning star dawns for true
hearts like first light, and two hands—
                           on a 'Sharon Rose'.

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