My neighbor through the woods
has cemented over half his yard
near the culvert, built brick walls
where white oak trees used to be.
I’m not sure what he was thinking.
Proud of his trail cam, he says
he’s a hunter, knows the land.
He hasn’t lived in Tennessee
that long, the state with more
caves than any other. Ground
water seeps up to ephemeral
streams along woodland edges,
finds the lowest point, and I hope
it always will. I don’t tell him this
(he can’t hear anyway, deafened
by leaf blower, chain saw, power
washer). Outside to get a signal,
he shouts into his cell phone
as I imagine the pull from below,
what might sink, yield drop by drop
to limestone, mineral deposits,
stalactites reach to stalagmites
sturdy enough to lean on, pillars
circling dark lakes where pale,
blind fish drift. But water recedes
in drought even underground;
Lost Sea lost sea, 25 feet, then
recovered. So he probably won’t
notice until there’s a real flood.
I doubt he’ll float by on his boat
to save us. The state of things now.
My boots suck through the thaw
as I slog back to the house. In April,
what remains of my tracks will glisten
with tadpoles if heavy rains still come.
Note: Lost Sea, a real place near Sweetwater, TN, is a large underground lake in the Craighead Caverns cave system.
Enjoyed this, thank you.