Smoke Signals - Poem by Braden Coucher
A Nobel fir still looms, sunken into the earth
Watching my mother while I’m away.
The grass underneath barely grows
In the shade. While I’m away I picture
My mother smoking half a cigarette
In her white rusty chair, sending me smoke signals
Diced by rain drops.
The Nobel drops needles onto the patches.
Where my brother used to smoke weeds
Cover the garden.
The water for the house and the garden
Comes from a well under that tree.
The night I left, a storm
Removed the dome of the well
And the water, unfiltered, tastes
The way the Nobel smells.
The sap water in the shade
Looms in my mother’s mouth
As she smokes in the rain
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