Jacks River in Winter
By Casey LeFrance
So many steep steps huffing up Cohutta,
the price of splendid isolation to borrow
from Zevon. Momma says it might be
her last winter with us, and the trout don't want
nothing to do with corn or powerbait. These aren't
Joyce Kilmer trees, but they're tall enough.
Pine sap sticky fingers give my sweaty hand a grip
on this crooked walking stick and this twisted road of life.