While Trespassing I Note the Sadness of Old Fences
I write poems when I can,
in late morning or during
the afternoon, between chores
but before dinner. And sometimes
I duck through spaces
void of wire barbs, and consider
how to fill the incomplete, which words,
what materials could repair
those particular holes. I cut my own
fence once, to access our house
when the creek flooded the road,
lugging uphill through the snake
grass a jug of scotch, my mandolin
and a watermelon, essentials for a weekend’s
respite. To be truthful I cut only the lowest
strand, to help the dog get through — I
was able to climb over, but he couldn’t dig
through the limestone rubble to wriggle
under, and we’d come too far
to simply turn around.
* * *
This appeared in riverSedge, Volume 29, Issue 1, released in October 2016. I first encountered riverSedge in 1983, and vowed that one day my poetry would be published in this journal. It took a while…
O at the Edges 
You paint such vivid pictures with your poetry-the mandolin, dog, watermelon and scotch. It invokes a real feeling of this place and who you are.
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Thanks very much, Bridgette. I’m so pleased the poem resonates for you. The events in the poem took place probably fifteen years ago. I miss that dog, but life (and all that entails) is much better today. 🙂
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I remember this poem. Just as good the second time around. (k)
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Thank you, Kerfe. It’s included in the new collection!
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I love the American landscape of that one. It’s like Dickinson “Started early, took my dog” went out in Texas or the Midwest and met up with Frost’s neighbor’s wire wall.
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Ah, the Texas Hill Country!
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