JUKE
JOINT
Molting Pastoral
In the shade of trees, the tears
were unintended, each prompting
more to fall. The river raised
its surface to consume the stones,
carrying a feather towards a slash
of sun and past. The barbs drenched,
the cavity filled but never forced
to sink, caught in an eddy, surfacing,
swirling. The green of algae
and egg-white of foam, the light itself
refracted like a trout’s back –
the feather remains. Its eventual
resting place a bank downstream,
a bent can, a hook, a wristband
with waterlogged ink. Remember
relief with that bracelet’s removal,
a feeling of freedom, a bus ride
to wherever, a sandwich, a conversation,
and the lonely proprietor in a shop
where shelves of candy sit uneaten.
Even at the edge, where water laps
at roots, the air is a mystery of breath
commingled into a widening cloud,
the way that cigarette smoke would gather
near the ceiling of a crowded room and float.
Chase Ferree (he/him) has zig-zagged around the country between North Carolina and Washington, with extended stays in Missouri and Massachusetts. He’s searching for the perfect glazed cake donut. Find him browsing the poetry section of secondhand bookshops or teaching the youth about figurative language.