Sample poems from James Fowler's THE PAIN TRADER
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Aftermath
—the Sultana disaster
Nathan seen it first, that first body
driftin’ downstream just after sunup.
Wasn’t nothin’ new, specially in spring flood.
Then come a dead mule, then a horse,
then a couple more Feds. We knew
Bobby Lee’d folded his hand a few weeks
back, and thought maybe bushwhackers
was gettin’ in some last licks.
Then Jeb called from a patch of shore
trees with water ten foot up their trunks.
It was tangled in the branches, so we
fished it out with poles from
Ole Man Jenkins’ raft. “Goddam,”
Jeb muttered, “this Yank died hard.”
He was part burnt, and a mite swole,
with a rag of bandage over one eye.
Not to be outdid, Nathan nudged me
and pointed midstream, where a clump
of blue and river trash whirled past.
We couldn’t quite reckon it, till
Jeb slapped his leg and declared,
“That steamer yestiddy mornin’,
packed to the rails and sorta leanin’
round the bend.” Hit like gospel truth.
Maybe right after Vicksburg fell
we might of whooped and seed
the hand of Providence payin’ out.
But now when nothin’ but thorns
is reaped, and bullet for bullet
stretches murder out to kill
peace itself, a floatin’ charnel house
like this don’t count for good.
Must be all that death ain’t quite
draint out of the works just yet.
Mountain Airs
I: Homecoming
Wouldn’t die
without seeing Europe.
Saw it and lived:
moon wallow,
potter’s field,
banquet for rats.
Came home and lived
through influenza.
Found remedy
in morning fogs,
creature calls,
walking the mountain
in many weathers.
Came home and married
a girl from school
he never fancied
but now found
likely.
She’d looked for more
but gratified
his second asking.
II: Settling
She has her father’s violin
for keeping, just for keeping,
and his pocket classics in
their worn leather skins.
Once he lived in Boston
before freefalling times
brought him to meager
Ozark village barter. [break]
Now she in turn learns
isolated mountain ways
with a cloudy man
most at home in silence
as a boy at heels wants
all she knows on lions.
Come sunset there’s a breeze
and Robert’s dobro waxes sweet.
The strains of joy and sorrow
don’t part too readily
is what the music says
and what her days repeat.
III: What He Recalls about
His Second Child’s Birth
The doctor arrived in a chariot of fire,
a wonder on wheels made in Little Rock.
Its oversized tires, its oversized everything
enchanted and awed him together.
A Climber for sure, a yellow behemoth
for conquering washouts and ruts in style.
Just picture it rumbling on stumps, on shale,
taking the top of the mountain by storm.
Not normally given to envy, he thinks
it a lesser man’s summons to larceny.
Such as himself must fall back on the line
of angling for heavenly blue tipped with green.
• • •
From the bed his deflated mate held up
a puckered tomato airing its griefs.
IV: Clara’s Vision
They’re under down south
in the great delta lake,
out of their depth,
over their houses.
Depressions cross the sky,
soaking the poor
on their bottomlands.
This rain that pours
pours in dust
and pours in locusts
and pours in soup.
Though perched on high
she feels the flood,
the drying jobs,
the drowning debt.
Seldom less than hard,
now a sight harder.
A use for every scrap,
and a second, then another.
Tacked to her wall
the Taj Mahal,
tribute to a woman
after she’s gone.
Some preacher says
a carpenter fixed things
once for all.
Emmanuel. The people
get their hands on Him.
V: Mr. and Mrs. Trask
He’s seen the type enough before:
the country pair at modest best [no break]
taking a portrait for posterity.
Between them they can dance,
mend a pump, kill a hog,
or treat the croup. Beyond that, though,
he sees the man’s slight shake
–mustard gas–and his ring
finger’s missing joint–sawmill.
His wife was pretty once
and probably likes Brahms or Keats.
For all their common memories
both occupy a sovereign space
and side by side negotiate.
VI: Times
Then he caught a chill
and labored on
to catch his death.
Twenty years with Robert,
forty more without.
She’ll leave the mountain
with its sumac trails
and sudden falls
for some college town
with plays and picture shows.
She’ll be a widow
at a glass display
or reference desk.
By luck or grace
her firstborn fighting
among islands
will live to make
the story branch.
The times are one way
so long, then something else.
Twenty years with Robert,
forty more without.