FOXFIRE

 

CHARLOTTE ISENBERG


It is January in North Carolina,                                   Taken in cover of a coal black sky,

and abortion is banned.                                                Witnessed only by hollow stars.

On the hill behind the dorm some girls are walking,    And I blink down at them, 

Talking under pines and poplars,                           Hear their shrieks, their pounding against night,

Singing to the new snow-                                   Powdered blows cushioned by home sweet home.

I watch after them,                                              Sister-cousin-nieces, freeze the picture

Lingering in the warmth of my window,            Of fire burning in silent white,

Knowing one in four will need a hand that’s cuffed:  Yawp-hollering against the weight.