Roadside Marker Poem by Jared Carter

A light morning snow
Has dusted each letter,
Altering the text:
Now the frontier militia
Cannot find its way
Through the great swamp.
The Indians break camp
And fade into the trees,
There is no dim clearing
Littered with the bodies
Of horses and dying men.
No roadway ahead of you
Scattered with beer cans
And broken glass. Before
You can stop and get out
To touch your fingers
To these words, the sun
Will have turned the page,
The tale will be gilded again.


From Work, for the Night Is Coming. First published in Wind/Literary Journal.