A Poem From Horace in the Dark

i drew these images from east texas in the piney woods. My mother's buried out there, and i though she was alive at the time when i wrote these. There was darkness there, and light too. But mostly the dark moving pine to pine. Beneath the porches, in the never opened back closets. The stuffed drawers behind the stove settled into its grease. Lift the jars lining the pant shelves, and there the dark will be an the fermented pears and the bluet honey. Listen here, dark, watch yourself. Dark, i'll be damned come and get it. Best leave it alone. Hitch your skirt up, belly, lift and knees down