Pastoral
by Brent House
Come hither child cross abides of pain
& wail appulsions against our reconceit body
come broken by thirst born of wind
& descend into a poultice red overlay of sun
come brayt against our paper earth deep pulse
but child you aint gonna die from pain
come hither child draw near with poisonful hands
& your welts shall shine as orrery
come hither child & I will poultice your sting out of spit wood
& the moon will open
come open & fill your hollow blood pools
with a poultice of straw and unbaked clay
come hither child bend to this soil
& fill your pores from the mist of our magnality
come let us take the barbs from your hands
as they trouble this land where we remain
come hither child for your people here have made a colony
& this land we will occupy
child come nest your hand in this smoke
reach deep within this tree & awin honey.
Brent House, a contributing editor for The Tusculum Review, is a native of Hancock County, Mississippi, where he raised cattle and watermelons on his family’s farm. His first collection, The Saw Year Prophecies, was published by Slash Pine Press.
