Sandy Longhorn
5 poems
from 52 Parks : 52 Poems
Song of Spider Web & Fern
~Withrow Springs State Park
Headed south out of Eureka, driving
through mountain clouds on the Pig Trail,
deer in the ditches and a shirtless
tattooed man on a 4-wheeler kicking up dirt
on the northbound shoulder—the air gleams
in the aftermath of thunder & rain.
At the park, first of the day to hike War Eagle
& Dogwood, I am engulfed in wet green,
ferns fanning out at my feet,
providing cover for Eastern Harvestmen,
webless arachnids, not spiders. No, I meet
the spiders in their webs as I crash
through their hours of labor. In the dense
& the green, arrowhead orbweavers
flourish, the trail funneling flying bodies
into their sticky nets, just as it funnels
this human body made missile & destroyer.
I learn to lead with my trekking pole,
to try and sweep the webs aside without killing.
Awkward, repentant, I try. I feel the need
to apologize as I tromp in the green.
Shreds of webbing cling to my hands,
flecks of trail dirt lace my ankles & calves,
and I am as close to claiming
some knowledge of this land,
and what it means to thrive
here, as I’ll ever be.
Here Confederates Clashed with Federal Foragers
~Poison Springs Battleground State Park
Late afternoon, full sun. February light cuts a thin stand of loblolly pine. Trim trunk-shadows cast long strips to bar the land carpeted in needles. On the trail to the springs they say the locals poisoned to kill the Union, beech trees bear the scars of past hikers ’carved initials peppered with stars. Thin bark once scored carries the wound for life. People picnic now on ground made fertile by spilled blood, ripped flesh, disintegrating bone – the northern and the southern of the species.
sunset: ghosts in the canopy,
laments hummed
in unaccented tongues
Unless
~Hobbs State Park–Conservation Area
An indigo bunting sings me
onto the Ozark Plateau Trail.
The looping figure-eight path,
dense with oak & pine, breaks
to reveal a talking circle, invites
in equal parts sunlight & shade.
On the far arc, park staff have placed
a chunk of sandstone stenciled
in black paint, UNLESS
and I peer upward in search
of the Once-ler, the Lorax
and that “sad backward glance.”
Treetops crowd the sky
in comfort & answer.
Though down the road a short drive,
the logging story continues
at the Van Winkle Mill, the trail
there laced with complications.
We celebrate a man who turned
19th century timber into gold,
fed cut boards to Fayetteville,
Bentonville, Eureka Springs.
We celebrate a man who owned
people to power industry but note
how later many of these free blacks
remained to work the mill, one a foreman
who took Van Winkle’s name.
All this an important part of the rich,
industrial heritage of the Arkansas Ozarks.
Sweating beside Little Clifty Creek,
UNLESS hovers & haunts – histories
of violence done to both land & people
still permeate and percolate
like water moving through the karst
beneath my feet wearing away bedrock.
A Den Might be an Escape, a Retreat, or a Lair
~ Devil’s Den State Park
The power of water thousands of years ago moved in,
undercut a mountain, caused a collapse, created Devil’s Den.
Chasing red blazes, you hike up, you hike down, around & around,
scamper stony stairs the Civilian Conservation Corps carved in.
Gates guard every entrance to every cave, erected to protect
Ozark big-eared bats, to keep the deadly fungus from the dens.
Slabs of sandstone slide at angles down the sun-pocked mountainside
in geologic time. You linger in the shade of walls for future dens.
Small, unnamed crevices lure you with their depths. You find
you must fight the urge to jump down, crawl into shadows, and bed in.
They call the dark fissures unfit for human habitation, no water
for large mammals. Crickets and spiders hoard what they can in the dens.
And look at you, Sandy, once again, asking dirt, stones, and trees –
all forever changed by human hands – to offer shelter when your life’s caved in.
Oxbow
~Lake Chicot State Park
i.
Here, the Mississippi flows
into low-lying plains,
its meanders
doubling down
on sinuosity
600 years ago
making possible,
the buildup of silt,
sediment, & rock
at a narrow neck
until 22 miles
of channel became
the nation’s largest,
natural oxbow lake,
the last remnant
the great river
will ever shed,
now in the age
of Army Corps
of Engineers,
of levees,
floodgates,
locks & dams.
ii.
Lake Chicot curves a near perfect crescent The arced lake
lined with groves of cypress trees, teems with flocking
their knees exposed, strong geese, ducks (dabblers
anchors offering shelter and quick divers), the great
to careening schools blue herons standing sentry
of bluegill & crappie at regular intervals along wooded
to solitary bass, shores where wild turkey congregate,
and where. and hawks (red-shouldered and northern
people pulled. harrier) patrol the air in the wake of bald
the old trees out. eagles looping circles, prepared to dive,
in favor of houses. to drive their razored talons through
with easy water access, the water’s taut surface tension.
satellite formations of PVC pipe. Here, human laws protect
planted in the bare muddy bottom. and make proliferate our
form regimented substitution roots. bountiful, natural wonders.
Sandy Longhorn (she/her) has published three books of poetry, most recently The Alchemy of My Mortal Form (Trio House Press, 2015). Longhorn teaches in the Arkansas Writer’s MFA Workshop at the University of Central Arkansas.