Poem 11, June 11
Chester Johnson, Poem Three
I told the CO that day at Stearns,
“I don’t want to be in the National Guard.”
I said, “my father served in the Navy and
I want to join the Navy, too.”
I did not want to go
for training at Fort Knox, Kentucky.
CO gave me a letter and told me
to take it to a Navy recruiter.
They sent me from Stearns to Somerset, Kentucky.
From there, I made my way home.
A Navy recruiter came to Albany
and signed me up.
Slow to leave
this Chattahoochee forest house.
Nighttime rain. Coffees on the porch.
Birthday champagne around the fire pit.
The Blue Ridge Mountains
attend to our long candlelit talks
of past, present and, especially
for our grown children, what’s to come.
Good-bye Nap-A-Way cottage.
So long little lizard and white bellied frog
until we drive this gravel road again–
this river-like road where the scenery changes like water.
How much art
do I need
to eat
to suppress who
I am
what I was
why am I knotted—
a battle box
croaked
and planted
a lava jaw
silenced
