By Anne Delana Reeves
Nothing bad can happen: the history of births, weddings, and deaths is gone.
No fire to burst the kitchen cistern and drown the flames. I live here now,
witness to the slow collapse of columns and floors, the rain that floods
Queen Anne eaves and streams in sheets across the walls. I listen
to mice scuffle behind plaster and eat the wires. All day dust falls
like shaved glass; the red-banded snake speaks exiled wisdom, flicking
his apple-scented tongue. I live here now, naming old faces that swarm
in mirrors, and pace pine floors to keep our secrets safe. Where I walk,
empty shells of locusts cling to poplar trees. Cardinals dart among
stones in the garden and thread their nests with my hair. Coyotes stalk
the dusk of ravines; the evening thrush enchants my dogs dreaming
over the buried bones of those who lived here. Where I sleep, moths strike
glass panes brimming with flame. Sparks sing to stars above the roof.
Nothing bad will happen. Let history collapse. The bones belong to me.
Originally published in Cimarron Review, Issue 209, Fall 2019.
The Importance of Arts, Culture, The Creative Process, and how this project resonates with you:
The creative process allows us to explore how memory endures by binding itself with place, landscape, history, and myth to make us who we are. This idea is the catalyst for my work. More importantly, it is an obligation. I am influenced by and gratefully indebted to William Faulkner’s directive for writers to explore, “old universal truths…the human heart in conflict with itself.” Faulkner adds that if we fail in this endeavor, our “griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars.” I like the scars.
What was the inspiration for your creative work?
I once lived in an old Southern colonial house in Tennessee on the edge of 2500 acres. The house had a wide front porch verandah with heart of pine floors and ceilings, and thick, white plaster walls inside. An enormous tulip poplar grew in the front yard and the woods were filled with wildflowers like trillium, bloodroot, and wild irises. I spent hours walking with my dogs and creating narrow trails through the woods. The house was falling down around me but it was heaven. The day I moved away, I knew I would never be that happy again.
Tell us something about the natural world that you love and don’t wish to lose.
William Wordsworth wrote, "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." I live with that in mind always.
