Stream-side cabins
twenty-five dollars a night
but then:
Smoke in the mountains
road signs resembling snakes
(curves ahead) (only curves ahead)
my father shifts to low.
Cool blanket evenings
in July, August, hiking
up trails designed for tourists
not hikers (but I could pretend),
to ascend, to see, finally
the valley below,
the land below.
I always feel closer to God
here, my mother says.
I like the black salamanders
in the streams.
This poem is submitted to the Warrior Poet Society, hosted by Jason Stasyszen, where the current prompt is “vacation.” To see more poems based on the prompt, please visit Connecting to Impact.
Photograph: Stream in the Smoky Mountains by Neal Floyd via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
