North to Natoma
and Other Poems


North to Natoma

Daylike, we pass by empty
lots of orchard land, the topsoil kept
down more by pacing feet than water.
Acres marked by long-hardened ruts
from truck tires through dried-up mud
the last rain left. It’s been months,
and the fields are good for nothing
but night talks. When we can mistake
the moths for raindrops, the cold for damp,
pretending under our boot prints that worms
might be crawling in the grayness,
yes! that there is something there,
straining through the droughted earth.

Afterlife for Georgia Boy and Us

This is a premium subscription story. Please make a $4 donation to access the individual story or a $50 donation to access all the stories in Narrative Backstage for a period of one year.

If you are already a user, but not yet logged in, you may login here.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.