Appalachian Come Inside by Charles Carr

Appalachian Come Inside

Morning ends
like a last bite
of apple,
fifty degrees
but who’s counting,
January and coffee
strong enough to hold
my own turns sixty-one,
I would click my heels
if not for their knees.
A tall hickory pitches
a bird at the sky,
noon is a high fly ball,
The New River is quiet
applause,
the air so clean it splashes
the city from my face
and I want to say thank you
but the sun is already
an arm of you’re welcome
around my shoulder.

by Charles Carr

Twitter: @selfrisinmojo

Editor’s Note: Stellar imagery imbues this poem with narrative force, until the last line sighs gently into place.